1 ): 




FROM 

THE PULPIT TO THE POOR-HOUSE 

AND OTHER ROMANCES 

OF THE 

METHODIST ITINERANCY 



BY 

JAY BENSON HAMILTON, D.D. 



NEW YORK : HUNT & EATON 
CINCINNATI : CRANSTON & CURTS 
1892 




Copyright, i8g£ by 
REV. JAY BENSON HAMILTON, 

New York. 

7 ¥* 



DEDICATED TO MY FATHER, 

REV. W. C. P. HAMILTON, A.M., 

A VETERAN 

WHO ESCAPED SUPERANNUATION 
BY SUDDEN TRANSLATION. 



PKEFACE. 



(( THROM THE PULPIT TO THE POOK- 
X HOUSE " is a romance from real life. The 
line between fact and fiction can be drawn with 
difficulty by the author. It was first used as a 
sermon in the Trinity Methodist Episcopal Church, 
Providence, R. I. It was then rewritten and re- 
vised, and was used as an address at conventions 
and Annual Conferences. It awakened such deep 
interest that requests for its publication came 
from every part of the country. Many ministers 
solicited permission to use it as an aid in call- 
ing the attention of the Church to the needs of the 
veterans of Methodism. It now goes forth accom- 
panied by other story-sermons of a kindred character. 
This attempt at preaching by " making believe " is 
a humble effort to imitate teaching by parable. If 
the thousands who may read will be as greatly inter- 
ested as the thousands who have heard, no one will 
be more gratified than The Author. 



CONTENTS. 



FROM THE PULPIT TO THE POOR-HOUSE. 

PAGE 

CHAPTER I. A Father's Purpose Defeated by a Mother's 

Prayer 9 

" II. A Bitter-sweet Honey-moon 14 

" III. The Donation Party 21 

" IV. Behold,. Thou art Old 27 

" V. A Pauper Pension for a Veteran Hero. . 30 

" VI. Vivisecting the Veteran 38 

" VII. St. Michael the Raven 39 

" VIII. Bitter as Death 46 

" IX. On the Road to the Poor-house 50 

" X. An Aqua-fortis Sermon , 54 

" XI. Pacts More Terrible Than Fiction 59 

DISSOLVING VIEWS OF THE METHODISM OF 1989- • • • 76 

TOM THE PHARISEE AND JACK THE PRODIGAL. 

CHAPTER I. Jack the Prodigal 103 

" II. Tom the Pharisee 116 

" III. The Higher Critic and the Hypercritic. 127 

" IV. Letter from New York 134 

" V. " " Japan 146 

" VI. " " New York 151 

" VII. " Japan 155 

" VIII. " " New York 165 

HOW SANTA CLAUS MADE ONE DOLLAR HOLD OUT.. ins 

THE TALE A LAMP-POST TOLD ME 194 



FROM THE PULPIT TO THE POOR- 
HOUSE, 



CHAPTEK I. 
a father's purpose defeated by a mother's prayer. 

DON'T be a fool, John ! You can't afford to 
throw your life away in the Methodist itin- 
erancy. With the start I will give you, you can win 
success in any business or profession you choose. If 
you desire to be a farmer, here is the old homestead ; 
it shall be yours. If you want to go to college and fit 
yourself for a profession, I will gladly help you. But 
to see you turn your back upon every opportunity for 
success to become a preacher among the poor and 
ignorant Methodists is the greatest grief of my life. 
If you will not listen to me now you will rue it to 
the end of your life." 
" But, father—" 

" Just wait until I am through, young man ! I am 
an old fogy, I presume. The boys know more at 



10 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



twenty-five than the fathers do at fifty. You were 
going to say that to get money is not the worthiest 
object in life. I have heard you say that more than a 
hundred times. But you will find money is a handy 
thing to have around. That will be the first thing 
you will learn in the Methodist itinerancy. The 
itinerant is never tempted to get rich. God keeps 
him humble and the people manage to keep him 
poor." 

" But, father—" 

" I am not through yet. If you become a Method- 
ist preacher you will spend your life in hard work 
and receive a bare support. As soon as you are worn 
out you will be cast adrift, like an old horse, to die. 
Your Church is not magnanimous enough to provide 
even a poor-house for its pauper ministers. A life of 
toil, privation, and sacrifice for the pittance of a com- 
mon laborer ! When ineffective because of gray hairs 
they will turn you adrift with scarce a crust. The 
pittance they will dole out to you will be as alms to a 
beggar and will be bestowed with such offensive 
parade that every instinct of manhood will forbid 
your accepting it unless you are reduced to absolute 
penury. If you select a profession with your ability 
and the training I will secure for you, you will at an 
early day secure an honorable position, obtain a com- 



A Father's Purpose Defeated. 11 

petence and a home', and even in the decline of life 
you will receive your largest income. Yon will find 
your harvest-time at the very age when in the ministry 
you will be rejected and without either occupation, 
home, or means of support. If you decide to become 
a Methodist preacher you must do it with your eyes 
wide open. I have done my duty. I have only told 
you that which you as well as I know to be but the 
bare truth. What have you to say ? " 

" Father, I have decided to become a Methodist 
preacher if I have to die in the poor-house." 

This brief dialogue occurred many years ago in a 
New England farm-house.* The father had little in- 
terest in or sympathy with religious people. In spite 
of his Methodist wife he claimed to have a positive 
dislike for, and bitter prejudice against, the Method- 
ists. He was very proud of his bright, active boy, 
and was greatly vexed when the young man was con- 
verted and became a Methodist. When the father 
remonstrated, and threatened the son, he proved to be 
a chip of the old block. The father said one day : 

" I have a great mind to turn you out of doors if 
you do not stay away from those pesky Methodists ! " 

The son quietly replied : 



* When I read this story in New England I always located it out West. It 
saved trouble. 



12 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

" Father, I have always honored and respected you ; 
but in this matter I claim the right to decide for my- 
self. You have always urged me to have a mind and 
an opinion of my own. I have tried to obey you in 
other things and I demand the right to do so in my 
religion. I am a Methodist not from impulse, but 
from principle and conviction. If you bid me leave 
your house I will sorrowfully obey you ; but I cannot 
cease to be a Methodist." 

The father was at first bitterly enraged, and then 
sorely grieved, when he learned that his son proposed 
to become a Methodist preacher. He tried every ex- 
pedient to avert what he firmly believed would be a 
disaster. The morning that the young man was to 
start to the Annual Conference to be received on trial, 
the conversation took place which I have related at the 
opening of my story. When the father found all his 
arguments and entreaties of no avail he gave the 
young man the best horse in his barn, with bridle, 
saddle, and saddle-bags. He said, with a grim smile, as 
he noticed the surprise created by the very appro- 
priate gift : 

" I had reason to believe that you inherited enough 
of the family stubbornness not to heed your father's 
counsel. I have all along felt sure that you would 
persist in making a fool of yourself in spite of all my 



A Father's Purpose Defeated. 13 

remonstrance and advice. I am not sure but I am 
largely responsible for your folly. ' Forbid a fool a 
thing and that he'll do.' If I had only remembered 
that 'fools are not to be convinced,' and had humored 
your fancy instead of opposing it, I might have saved 
myself the humiliation and you the misfortune of the 
blunder of this hour. If you will not listen to reason, 
but are determined to become a traveling beggar, my 
family pride compels me to give you a respectable 
outfit." 

The young man, with tearful eyes, grasped 
his father's hard hand with a fervent grip and 
said : 

" Father, I deeply regret that duty compels me to 
cause you so great a disappointment. I thank you for 
your generous gift." And then, with a smile through 
his tears, he said : 

" I will try to prove false the old adage you have 
uttered so often : ' Put a beggar on horseback and 
he'll ride to the devil !' " 
> Mother and son had a tender parting upon which 
we will not intrude. The young man mounted his 
horse with wet eyes. That scene in his mother's 
chamber he would never forget. He had received 
his mother's farewell kiss and blessing. Her farewell 
words encouraged him as he thought about them all 



14 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

the way to the Conference. She had said, with eyes 
shining through her tears : 

i% My son, I have prayed that you might become a 
Methodist minister ever since the day you were born. 
May God make you a successful one, is your mother's 
only wish and prayer." 



CHAPTEK II. 

A BITTER-SWEET HONEY-MOON. 

IT will be impossible in this brief space to follow 
the steps of the young itinerant through his whole 
ministerial life. Our purpose will be accomplished 
by recording its closing chapters. His experience was 
in no particular different from that of most of his 
brethren. He began with the smallest and hardest 
places. His work was fairly successful, but required 
the sacrifice and heroism so common to all itinerants as 
never to receive mention. His life passed unevent- 
fully along year by year ; he rarely suffered from 
want ; he never enjoyed the luxuries of life ; he was 
always poor. A brief glance at one of the many ap- 
pointments he served may account for the smallness 
of his savings. The trip from the seat of Conference 
to one of his charges was his marriage tour. The 



A Bitter-sweet Honey-moon. 



15 



minister and his new wife, whose honey-moon began 
with the Conference session, had talked in a confidential 
way about the happiness of love in a cottage parson- 
age. They had tried to guess the shape and color of 
the house, the number of the rooms, and the pattern 
of the carpets and the kind of furniture until they 
had become so interested that each chided the other 
with preparing the way for a great disappointment. 

They were met at the depot by a committee of a 
half-dozen of the leading members of the church. 
After the greeting was given, one after another began 
to say how happy they would be to have their new 
pastor and his wife stop with them ; but one " had 
such a small house ; " another " had a sick wife ; " 
another " had so many children.'' The minister said : 

" Have you a hotel here ? " 

"Yes," said one of the committee, who had not 
spoken ; " I keep the hotel ! " 

" Please take our checks and have our baggage taken 
to the hotel. We will stop with you until we can 
make other arrangements." 

This proposition was so quickly assented to by all 
as " just the thing," that the pastor and his wife said 
to each other, at the first moment of privacy, " That 
must have been arranged beforehand." 

One week's boarding at regular hotel rates convinced 



16 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

the minister that the small salary he was likely to receive 
would all be exhausted before the first quarterly meet- 
ing. " The parsonage is a little out of repair," the 
hotel-keeper said, a little testily, when he found he 
was to lose his boarders. He had insisted that, as busi- 
ness was business, the pastor should pay full price and 
weekly in advance. When the minister ventured to 
ask if the parsonage could not be sufficiently repaired 
to make it habitable the reply was still more curt : 

" The church is too poor to repair it. There is no 
furniture, and the Ladies' Aid Society is too small and 
weak to buy any." 

The minister and his wife visited the parsonage. It 
had not been opened for nearly a year. The former 
minister had been a single man, and the church had 
been unable to rent the house by reason of its dilap- 
idated condition. It was a little cottage one story 
and a half high. The red paint with which it had 
been painted many years before had peeled off in 
many places and had faded in others, so that the ques- 
tion as to color was decided a draw. The wife sug- 
gested that " mottle " was the nearest color. It was 
situated upon a narrow back street. The gate was off 
the hinges ; most of the fence was torn down ; the 
yard had been the village resort for boys and wander- 
ing animals, until it was a sorry and desolate looking 



A Bitter-sweet Honey-moon. 



17 



spot. The window sashes evidenced that the boys 
emulated the Benjamite accomplishment of slinging 
stones " at a hair-breadth without a miss." The porch 
swayed and creaked when the minister stepped upon 
it. After unlocking the door it required two men to 
force it open. The ceilings were low, black, and 
damp-looking ; the walls had been papered, but much 
of the paper had fallen off ; the floor was sunken and 
wet. The cellar was half full of water. The air felt 
damp and chill. Every thing was cheerless enough, but 
the wife said, with a bright smile through her tears : 

" "We have love and the cottage, you know." 

The hotel-keeper, who had looked the house over 
with illy concealed disgust and contempt, said : 

" I would not stable my horses in such a hole. If 
you prefer to go to housekeeping here, rather than 
board with me, you may. But you may be sure the 
church has no money to throw away fixing it up or 
furnishing it." 

The pastor quietly replied : 

" I have estimated the expense of boarding with 

you at the rate with which we have begun, and I find 

that the salary which has been estimated will pay our 

board with you just six months and leave us not a 

penny for clothes. I agree with you that this shanty 

is not fit for a decent stable ; but as it is the best our 
2 



18 



From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



people seem to care to do for a house for us we must 
make the best of it." 

After a week's hard work painting, scrubbing, and 
papering, the old house began to look cosy and neat. 
Most of the wife's savings from her salary as a school- 
teacher were expended in very scantily furnishing two 
or three of the rooms. The first night they occupied 
their new home it rained. They were awakened by 
the dash of the rain upon the window and roof. The 
wife said : 

" My dear, what a comfort it is to have a roof over 
our heads such a night as this." 

Just at that moment a large drop of water fell in her 
face, followed in quick succession by a dozen small ones. 
The roof had sprung a leak. The water collecting over- 
head began to ooze through the plastering. She did 
not finish her remark. They moved the bed to another 
part of the room, but had scarcely lain down before a 
large drop fell in the minister's face. They moved the 
bed five times, and placed it under a leak every time. 
The minister tried to light a match, but the matches 
had been under a leak, too. After a long and blunder- 
ing search in the dark the minister found the umbrella, 
which he hoisted over their heads, saying : 

" What a comfort it is, my dear, to have a roof over ' 
our heads such a night as this." 



A Bitter-sweet Honey-moon. 19 



The night ended, as all nights must, but seemed in 
no hurry about it. The minister said, as daylight be- 
gan to appear : 

" Thank heaven, it's over at last." 

He sprang back into bed with a cry of surprise? 
and dismay. The water in the room was about ankle ; 
deep. The water from the hill back of the house, added 
to what came in through the roof, made a respectable 
sized pond for a family of two. The fire was out, the 
matches were wet, their clothes were thoroughly sat- 
urated with water, and the minister's boots were half 
full of water. 

The parsonage was a fair illustration of the church. 
One incident of many of a similar character may give 
a faint idea of the broad-minded and liberal spirit of 
the officiary of the church. 

One of the stewards brought in a fine turkey and 
a pumpkin pie as his usual Thanksgiving present to 
his pastor. The present was thankfully received. 
The minister, surprised out of his usual self-possession 
by the novelty of receiving a present of real value, 
said : 

" This is such a large and fine bird it is a pity we 
have but two in our family ; suppose you come and 
help eat it." 

To the utter dismay of the minister and his wife, 



20 



From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



the good brother instantly accepted the invitation, 
and said : 

"I will bring my wife and all the family, so you 
won't be so lonesome." 

When he had gone, the minister, seeing the look of 
sorrowful perplexity upon his wife's face, said : 

" My dear, I was only joking ; I had no idea he 
would accept." 

She deliberately went to the book-case, and taking 
down the Discipline turned to rule second for a preach- 
er's conduct, and read aloud : " 6 Be serious, avoid all 
lightness, jesting, and foolish talking.' My dear, 
please never joke again with that brother." 

When Thanksgiving came the steward and steward- 
ess and seven young stewards came. They ate as if 
they had fasted a week in anticipation of such a feast. 
When the next quarterly meeting came round the 
minister was handed by the church treasurer a bill for 
three dollars for the turkey. It was credited as one 
year's quarterage of the steward and charged as cash 
upon the pastor's salary. 

"Let me see," said the minister; "how much did 
that turkey weigh?" 

"Fifteen pounds." 

" What is turkey worth a pound ? 99 

" Fifteen cents." 



The Donation Party. 



21 



" Then the turkey was worth two dollars and twenty- 
cents. That makes the pumpkin pie cost me seventy- 
five cents. The turkey is all right, but pumpkin pies 
are too great luxuries and a little too expensive for a 
family as large as ours at Thanksgiving. 7 ' 



CHAPTER III. 

THE DONATION PARTY. 

FOP three months the pastor had received but $5. 
He gently reminded the treasurer that funds 
were low. He had not money enough to buy a post- 
age stamp. He wished to send a letter to the presid- 
ing elder. His credit was getting low. He had 
been dunned two or three times by the members of 
the official board with w r hom he had run an account 
for his necessary living. Some one suggested a dona- 
tion party. The idea took. The cheerful occasion 
is best described by the victim himself. The ac- 
count was not published in The Christian Advo- 
cate ; we obtained it from the presiding elder. Here 
it is : 

" Dear Brother : We have had a donation. I have 
read of donation parties as painted in glowing colors 
by grateful recipients of overwhelming bounty. 



22 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

When I read the newspaper reports, how I en- 
vied the pastors who had been ' pounded ' and ' sil- 
vered,' and I wondered why I had been deprived of 
this delightful experience. I have no longer been 
deprived. I wish I had been. Our donation did not 
quite come up to my ideal. But then this is my 
first. I may get used to them in time. I wanted to 
mail you a letter, but had not money enough to buy 
a stamp. I gently hinted to our treasurer that money 
was scarce. I asked him if there was money enough 
in the treasury to send a letter to the presiding elder. 
He soberly replied, ' J^o ; but I think there is enough 
to send a postal card. We are getting you up a do- 
nation, and then you will be all right.' 

"Turkeys, chickens, hams, barrels of flour, suits of 
clothes, and purses of money in kaleidoscope form 
passed before my eyes continually. They haunted 
me with tantalizing day-dreams and gave me the 
nightmare at night. The day I first heard about it 
-I hurried home. I threw my hat in one corner of 
the room and my overcoat in the other. I took my 
little wife in my arms and danced her all around the 
room, Sunday as it was. She wanted to know if I 
was crazy ; if I knew what day it was. I said : 

" ' We are to have a donation. I will have a new 
suit of clothes. You will have a new dress. We 



The Donation Party. 



23 



will have a purse full of money. Our people do 
appreciate us after all.' 

" I felt a little hurt that she seemed to take it so 
coolly, and asked her if she was not glad. She said 
she would wait until it was over before she expressed 
her opinion. 

" I went to the market and bought — on credit, for I 
had no money — what I thought we would need to 
provide entertainment for those who might come. 
My wife worked late and early until she was all worn 
oat and ready to go to bed with a sick headache. 
Despite her weariness and my dread of the debt in- 
curred we both took great pride in the result of her 
labors. Chickens roasted, hams boiled, pies and cakes 
without number. Toward evening of the fateful day 
a committee of ladies came in and said we were to 
turn the house over to them. We did. The people 
came nocking in until the house was filled to over- 
flowing. The old ladies were a little inquisitive and 
the young people were a little boisterous. But I 
consoled myself with the thought that donations do 
not come every day. A royal feast was spread. I 
was a little anxious when I saw there was nothing 
upon the table but what we had prepared. I was too 
excited and my wife was too ill to eat. But such 
appetites as our dear people had ! My wife's cooking 



24 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

was complimented in the most nattering terms. One 
good brother said : ' One look at this table ought to set 
at rest forever all insinuations that we do not treat 
our minister well. A man who can entertain his 
friends with such a feast as this is remarkably well 
provided for. My dear brother, you are to be con- 
gratulated.' 

" After supper the Sunday-school superintendent 
made a very pleasant little speech, and in the name 
of my many friends in the church and community 
presented me with an envelope containing a sum of 
money. It was too much for me. My self-command 
failed me, and I wept. In a few broken words I ex- 
pressed my thanks. 

" We were soon alone. My wife desired to retire at 
once, but I insisted upon seeing what presents we had 
received. We went to the dining-room and found the 
table covered with the fragments that remained of 
our royal feast that were not trampled upon the 
floor. The dishes were unwashed and piled in a 
heap. We went into the pantry. All the chickens, 
pies, and cakes my wife had prepared had disappeared. 
In their place I found one pumpkin, a plate of dough- 
nuts, and one mouldy mince-pie. We went to the 
cellar and found one peck of small potatoes and one 
more pumpkin, which the boys had marred a little by 



The Donation Party. 



25 



using as a foot-ball. We went into my study. I 
found upon the back of my study-chair a cotton 
dressing-gown of bright colors and flaring figure. It 
was big enough for both of us. On my desk was a 
pair of carpet slippers, a little large and a little worn, 
and one flannel pen-wiper. My gold pen was gone. 
We went into the chamber. We found one small cot- 
ton handkerchief, a little soiled, four rolling-pins (old 
ones), and three potato-mashers (old ones). We went 
into the parlor. Our large parlor lamp was broken 
and the oil was all over the carpet. A walnut center- 
table was tipped over and one leg was broken off. 
The mirror was cracked, and a choice picture was soiled 
with dirty finger-marks. Three valuable books, soiled 
and badly torn, were lying on the floor. I remem- 
bered the young folks had been playing 'Copen- 
hagen.' I was angry and clenched my hand, and 
found the envelope which I had forgotten. I opened 
it and found $1.32. The first glance showed one 
counterfeit quarter and one that was plugged. When 
I remembered how I had wept I was hardly able to 
control myself. To make things seem more aggra- 
vating, I remembered that after they had tired them- 
selves out playing 'Copenhagen' they sang, ' There is 
rest for the weary.' I hoped at the time it betok- 
ened religious interest, now I was sure it was because 



26 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



there was nothing more to eat and no more deviltry 
they could perpetrate. The next day my treasurer 
waited upon me and presented me with a paper 
headed. 

ACCOUNT OF DONATION. 
Rev. Mr. to Church Treasurer, Dr. 

Cash $1 32 

One dressing-gown 5 00 

Two pumpkins 50 

One pair slippers To 

Four rolling-pins 1 00 

Three potato-mashers 75 

One handkerchief 25 

One peck of potatoes 25 

One plate of doughnuts 15 

One mince-pie 20 

One pen-wiper 5 

Services of ladies 5 00 

Total $14 22 

" This was credited on my salary as so much cash. 

" I prepared a sermon from the text : ' I was a-hun- 
srered, and ve gave me no meat : I was thirsty, and 
ye gave me no drink : I. was a stranger, and ye took 
me in : naked, and ye clothed me not.' My wife 
found the manuscript and burned it. I am glad of 
it now. but writing the sermon relieved me. I de- 
sire to move next Conference — sooner, if possible." 



Behold, Thou Art Old. 



27 



CHAPTEK IV. 

BEHOLD, THOU AKT OLD. 

OUE hero was a man of but ordinary parts. He 
was not learned or eloquent. He never was 
called to a great pulpit. He was an earnest, prac- 
tical, faithful minister of the Gospel. He left every 
church better than he found it. He was instru- 
mental in the conversion of many souls. He mar- 
ried a devoted Christian lady. God gave them sev- 
eral children. To his great consternation his meager 
salary did not increase as did his family. His income 
was always small. It was generally estimated, in ac- 
cordance with the Discipline, at no more than enough 
for his support. Compelled to incur extra expense 
in dress, books, and papers, his receipts were about 
equal to the day-laborer. If by frugality and self- 
denial a little sum began to accumulate for a rainy 
day, sickness or pressing calls for charity soon extin- 
guished it. Frequently the small salary estimated 
was partly paid in useless presents or undesired prod- 
uce at exorbitant prices. As frequently, by the 
neglect or indifference of the stewards, a portion of 
the small salary was unpaid at the end of the year. 
These deficiencies were small sums in each year, but 



28 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

became a large amount in the aggregate as the years 
passed by. 

The father of our hero after several years became 
reconciled to his son's choice of a profession. During 
a visit to his son he was converted and became an ar- 
dent Methodist. He became a generous giver to all 
church institutions. At his death, which occurred a 
few years after his conversion, he gave a large share 
of his modest fortune to the various benevolences of 
Methodism. The son's share of his father's estate 
was invested, at the suggestion of a friendly Methodist 
financier, in a silver mining company, and vanished 
when the bubble burst. 

When the children began to incur the expense in- 
cidental to education many were the sacrifices required 
of parents and children to make both ends meet. Un- 
kind remarks frequently reached the parsonage about 
the miserly disposition manifested by shabby attire 
and scanty patronage of the grocer. Lines in the 
pastor's brow and the white cheeks of the pastor's 
wife were the only signs that the gossip was heard. 
The only son who reached manhood sought to work 
his way through college. Too proud to make his 
wants known, he went thinly clad and poorly fed, and 
broke down before graduation. After a long illness 
the parents were broken-hearted to see in him their 



Behold, Thou Art Old. 



29 



hopes extinguished. The only daughter who reached 
womanhood refused an offer of marriage from a 
worthy young man she loved, and upon the death of 
her brother put her young shoulder under the burden 
that was crushing her parents. 

The Annual Conference which witnessed the twen- 
ty-fifth anniversary of our friend's entrance upon the 
ministry was an eventful one. 

It was his birthday week as well. The presiding 
elder said to the bishop : 

" I have no place upon my district for this man. He 
is a good preacher. He has been a successful minis- 
ter. He has always left his churches in better con- 
dition than he found them. He is fifty years old; 
he is quite gray ; he is not as active as he once 
was ; his wife is in delicate health and cannot take 
an active interest in the parish work. I have tried 
to induce a number of churches upon my district to 
accept him, but all in vain. The cry is for young 
men. The young people are coming to the front in 
the management of the churches, and they demand 
youthful bloom, fire, and enthusiasm in the minister. 
Yery few of them will consent to have an old man." 

By exchange a place was found upon another dis- 
trict. He was sent to a remote country village church 
which had asked for a young man. They preferred 



30 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

a single man, but would accept a married man with- 
out a family. The community was in a ferment 
when they saw the gray-haired pastor and his almost 
invalid wife. At first they threatened not to receive 
him, but at last yielded to the presiding elder with 
very poor grace. The salary was estimated at a sum 
about enough for the support of a single man. The 
expenses of the long move and the reduction in the 
salary made the year one of pinching poverty. Both 
pastor and people petitioned for a change at the end 
of the year. The year was almost an utter failure. 
Another place was found for the minister with great 
difficulty. Again the church had asked for a young 
man and received an old one. 



CHAPTEK Y. 

A PAUPER PENSION FOR A VETERAN HERO. 

TEN years passed with almost annual moves. 
When the minister's sixtieth birthday arrived the 
presiding elder said : 

"My dear brother, I cannot carry you along any 
further. You must superannuate. The other elders 
cannot give you a place ; I have none that will receive 
you. If you will superannuate I will endeavor to 



A Pauper Pension for a Veteran Hero. 31 

get you as large an appropriation from the fund for 
superannuated preachers as I can. If you do not su- 
perannuate I must request the Conference to locate 
you." 

A series of resolutions very complimentary were 
unanimously adopted at the Annual Conference when 
our veteran requested to be superannuated. Several 
quite touching addresses were delivered. The bishop, 
with tears in his eyes, said : 

" That is right, brethren, the wounded veteran, 
when no longer able for arduous service, ought to be 
retired to the hospital." 

A small country village was selected for their home. 
Many years before they had spent two years with the, 
people in very pleasant pastoral relations. The ac- 
cumulated savings of the father and daughter were 
a few hundred dollars. A small cottage was pur- 
chased, partially paid for, and scantily furnished. 
Of course, we are unable to do more than glance in 
the briefest manner possible at this life now passing 
before us. An extract from a letter immediately 
after his superannuation may help us to a knowledge 
of how it feels to be superannuated. 

To a young minister who wrote him a letter of 
sympathy upon his retirement he said : 

"Dear Brother : I thank you from the bottom of 



32 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



my heart for your kind and sympathizing words. My 
experience is much less sorrowful than that of many 
retired ministers. I am not entirely destitute and am 
still able to do a little work. But my heart is very 
heavy and the outlook is very dark. I am not disap- 
pointed. I have been looking forward to this for years. 
For all that, when the ' thud 3 came it hurt worse than 
I thought it would. I am not able to take work, and 
yet without work I have nothing to live on. When 
I settled down in this little home, so scantily furnished, 
unfitted for any secular business, with no outlook for 
daily bread, I was greatly disheartened. "When I saw 
my dear old wife, all the more dear because she was 
old, unpack our goods and begin to get ready for 
housekeeping, how my heart ached ! When I re- 
membered that I had no church, no Sunday-school, no 
prayer-meeting, no work, no income, it was more bit- 
ter than death. You can never anticipate it." 

To an aged brother who had been his presiding 
elder, but who was now, like himself, superannuated, 
he wrote a brief letter, explaining why he had retired. 
He said : 

" Dear Brother : The saddest day of a Methodist 
minister's life has arrived for me. I did not desire to 
superannuate, but was constrained to do so to relieve 
the embarrassment of the appointing powers. How 



A Pauper Pension for a Yeteran Hero. 33 

I am to live one year without any income, the dear 
Lord only knows. It seems to me as if there was a 
mistake in our economy. When a minister is unable 
to preach he ought to die. It would be a fitting 
ending to his ministry were he to preach his farewell 
sermon with his own empty coffin just before him. 
When his sermon was ended he should lie down in 
his coffin and be carried out and buried. He should 
cease at once to work and live, and go home to re- 
ceive his crown." 

To this letter the ex-presiding elder replied : 
" Dear Brother : The distressing feature of your 
case is, there is nothing unusual about it. It is the 
common lot of the old men of the Church. When I 
was a presiding elder, one of our excellent bishops — one 
of the best of them — speaking of the difficulties that 
heset himself and colleagues in making the appoint- 
ments, said to me : 6 The venerable men who have 
horne the burden and heat of the day have to be pro- 
vided for, and the young men are kept out of appoint- 
ments they feel themselves competent to fill and they 
"become restive. Now, if some of these dear old breth- 
ren would consent to step aside and give their places 
to the younger and more active men it would relieve 
the embarrassment.' 

" Indeed ! Where will they go ? Where are they 

3 • 



34 From the Pulpit to the Pour-house. 



to live, and how \ "Will somebody tell \ If there is 
a man in the Methodist Episcopal Church for whom 
there is no place it is the average superannuate. I 
have served in the cabinet with eight or nine of our 
bishops and know somewhat of the embarrassment 
that besets the appointing power at times ; but I 
have never known any embarrassment like that 
which came upon me when I had to step aside. To 
have no place to go. nothing to depend on for a liv- 
ing, is. I find, very embarrassing." 

What proved a very serious embarrassment to our 
hero, as to all like him, was, that the little allowance 
made him by the Conference was not due until the 
session of the next Conference. He had to make 
provision for one year's expenses without any income 
from the Church at all. When he made application 
for aid he was surprised and grieved to find himself 
compelled to submit to an examination intended to 
reveal to the committee his absolute penury. The 
basis of distribution was necessity and distress. He 
was made to feel that the amount to be received was 
not a pension, but a gratuity. His allowance was not 
in part the payment of a just debt, but a gift of 
charity extorted by his pathetic appeal. The fol- 
lowing blank was forwarded to him for his sig- 
nature : 



A Pauper Pension for a Yeteran Hero. 35 

Blank for Conference Claimants. 

By action of the Conference the stewards are not 
permitted to allow any claim where answers to the 
following questions are refused. Every question 
must be answered. 

J. Name and post-office address. », 

2. Number of years in eifective ministry. 

3. How long a superannuate. 

4. Number and age of family dependent on you. 

5. State of their health. 

6. Income from their labor. 

7. Income from your own labor. 

8. Yalue of property, house and lot, real estate, 
notes, and other items. 

9. Total net income on the above. 

10. What donation or aids from friends other than 
these. 

We send you two blanks. Fill them both. Send 
one to your next Quarterly Conference and the other 
to the Secretary of the Conference Stewards. To no 
one else, to avoid trouble. 

This was received and read aloud by the old min- 
ister with trembling voice. After a moment's silence 
he bowed his head in his hands and burst into tears. 
Then, nervously walking the floor, he cried : 

" Has it come to this ? If I were able to earn bread 
and fuel without it I would not take it. Are we 
paupers, wife, dear ? Is this relief extended us charity, 
or is it a beggarly part payment of a just debt ? " 



36 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



Driven by absolute need to rill out the blank, it was 
blotted with tears when finally signed. For once the 
brave little woman had no comfort to give. Her eves 
were too bright for tears. She said, quietly, but with 
an emphasis very unusual for her : 

" It is dishonorable to the Church and unjust to 
you and your fellow-laborers. It is a humiliation to 
which we must submit : we cannot help ourselves : 
let us not talk about it any more, except to our Father. 
He will make it all right when we get home." 

The allowance was but $100 3 because the blank 
showed that the superannuate owned a house and lot 
worth 8S00, which was mortgaged for 8500. 

The community did not seem pleased at the return 
of the old pastor. Most of those who had known him 
were dead or had moved away. Some of the people 
were ungenerous enough to say that the old man had 
come back to be supported. The new pastor was a 
very young man. and was ambitious to be the sole 
pastor of the parish. He disliked to share with 
another the pleasant duties of ministering to the peo- 
ple at the sacramental table, at baptisms, weddings, 
and funerals. The presence of a former pastor, who 
was continually reviving old memories of happy in- 
cidents of pastoral relations, was very irksome and 
embarrassing. The keen eyes and ears of the old 



A Pauper Pension for a Veteran Hero. 37 



minister soon discovered the condition of things, and 
he kindly relieved the embarrassment by declining 
nearly all such invitations. This was attributed to 
jealousy and sourness, and created a coldness and in- 
difference toward him in the minds of the members 
of the church. 

A severe and protracted illness robbed the home of 
the labor of the daughter's hands. By canvassing for 
books the old minister had succeeded, with his daugh- 
ter's aid, in barely supporting his family. Several 
months' illness of the daughter and increasing infirmity 
of the father cut off all income. An appeal was made 
to the Conference, and the allowance was increased 
$25. At last the daughter died. The interest of the 
mortgage upon the house could not be paid, and the 
mortgage itself was increased by borrowing small sums 
of money to relieve immediate distress. At last the 
old people became objects of charity. The needs 
were frequent and urgent, until the patience of the 
people became exhausted. 



38 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



CHAPTER YI. 

VIVISECTING THE VETERAN. 

THE Ladies' Circle was in session. A casual in- 
quiry concerning the health of the old minis- 
ter's wife led to a conversation very general and 
pointed. One sister, very active in the Woman's 
Foreign Missionary Society, said : 

" I think it is too bad that this old minister should 
be left upon our hands to be supported. When I 
solicit money for foreign missions I am reminded 
that charity begins at home. The people plead that 
they are continually giving to the poor at home, and 
especially to the poor old minister. I hoped to 
raise one hundred dollars for our Missionary Society, 
but fear it will be hard work." 

Another lady, active in the Woman's Christian 
Temperance Union, said : 

" This very family embarrasses me in my work. 
I have been soliciting clothing and shoes and money 
to relieve the distress of the families of the intem- 
perate in our town and the people are continually 
saying, ' You had better relieve the distress of the 
old minister.' I declare, I am tired hearing his 
name." 



St. Michael the Raven. 



39 



Another lady, who had just assisted in organizing 
a Woman's Home Missionary Society, said : 

"It is a little strange, but I find myself embar- 
rassed in the same way by the same family. I have 
been soliciting aid for the neglected and suffering 
freedmen of the South, and many have replied, i Had 
you not better relieve the neglected and suffering 
minister's family?' I believe I would rather go to 
the poor-house than become a burden to my friends 
and a nuisance in the community. 



CHAPTER VII. 

ST. MICHAEL THE RAVEN. 

THE day the Ladies' Sewing Circle met was cold 
and raw. The old minister and his wife sat 
together in the little kitchen by their only fire. He 
was pretending to read the Bible which lay open 
upon his knee ; she was pretending to patch a worn 
garment. Both watched each other with stolen 
glances, as if waiting for the first word. The old 
man shivered with the cold, and mechanically arose 
to replenish the fuel in the stove. He took the empty 
hod and started toward the door. He opened the 
door and then suddenly stopped, turned, and, closing 



40 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

the door, he replaced the hod and sat down by his 
wife. He gently took her hand, and said, softly : 

" I had forgotten that I had scraped the coal-bin 
before. Do you suppose the coal-man has forgotten 
the order? I wonder why the grocer has not sent 
the tea and sugar and flour I ordered this morning ? 
Have you any thing for supper, wife, dear ? " 

She made no reply, but simply shook her head. 
He continued : 

" I must go and see about the coal and groceries 
before it gets dark." 

The coal merchant was not in his office ; but a pert 
boy of ten years of age seemed to be in charge. He 
said : 

" Father told Mike he need not mind about taking 
up your coal. You had not paid for the last load yet. 
May be if you'd get pretty well chilled you'd settle. 
Do you want to pay for the last load now ? If you 
do, I'll send another load right away." 

" My son, I cannot pay you any money to-night ; 
you need not send any coal." 

At the grocer's the clerk spoke a little sharply. 
" Your bill is more than a month behind, and I was 
told not to fill any more orders without the cash." 

With a heavy sigh the old minister said : 

" I cannot pay you any thing to-night." 



St. Michael the Raven. -II 



He seemed to try to make the journey between the 
store and his house as long as possible. His usual 
slow step now dragged, but in spite of him his own 
door soon opened to his tardy feet. 

He seated himself by the stove, now growing cold, 
and for a moment said nothing. "Very slowly and 
softly he said : 

" Wife, dear, it is what I feared and yet dreaded to 
know. Neither coal nor groceries have been sent 
because they feared they would not be paid for." 

Almost whispered came the answer : 

'•'I knew it would be so." 

He took her hand gently, and, tenderly stroking it, 
said : 

" Never mind, wif ey, dear, the dear Lord has a long 
bank account. He can provide for the coal and the 
grocer's bill. He can order new supplies, if it is best. 
If it is not, it won't matter. It will only hasten a 
little our summons home. We will trust him all the 
same. Wife, dear, I have never begged. I would 
die before I would do it for myself ; but for you I 
will do any thing. The honor of our dear old Church 
is at stake. For a worn-out minister to beg for food 
and fuel would be a terrible disgrace. I am not sure 
but it will be better for us to do what they wish. If 
it were not for you, I would gladly die before I should 



42 



From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



go to the poor-house. But for you who have been my 
comfort and my good angel all our married life I 
will do any thing or go anywhere. How the enemies 
of dear old Methodism would rejoice to know that an 
aged minister and his wife had become the inmates 
of the poor-house through neglect of the Church to 
provide for them in their helpless old age. "Wife, dear, 
for your sake I will submit to this indignity even at 
the expense of the honor of my Church which I love 
dearer than life, but not dearer than you/' 

" No, husband, dear," the wife replied ; "I love my 
Church too much to become a reproach to her. I 
honor you too much to consent that for my sake you 
shall dishonor yourself and Methodism by becoming 
a town's pauper. Honest poverty is no shame ; but 
the many years of arduous, illy paid labor of our lives 
creates a debt of honor. The Church cannot ignore 
it without grave wrong. I would rather die than 
have you become the object of charity because of un- 
faithfulness or neglect of duty. We have been faith- 
ful ; we cannot degrade ourselves by announcing that 
we are receiving a fair recompense for service. We 
cannot shame or dishonor our Church by publishing 
her unfaithfulness. It will be better and easier to die." 

This little speech was punctuated by tears and sobs 
which almost broke the old man's heart. He sank 



St. Michael the Raven. 



43 



upon Iris knees, and, clasping botli of his wife's hands 
in his, he drew her head to his shoulder and began 
to pray. He was not gifted in speech, but was 
known among his brethren as eloquent and. mighty in 
prayer. The old fire returned ; he prayed as he had 
prayed in his youthful ministry. Always sweet, trust- 
ful, and tender, yet burning with earnestness, buoyant 
with faith, and joyful with hope, he talked with God. 

A man without stood with his hand on the door. 
He had been an unconscious listener to both conver- 
sation and prayer. Through the partially drawn 
blinds he had witnessed the old pair kneeling in each 
other's arms. As the prayer began he took off his 
hat. The tears soon began to flow. He wiped them 
away with the sleeve of his coat, and when the prayer 
ended he sobbed out, " Amen ! " in regular old Meth- 
odist fashion. 

" Father Maginnis may call the Methodist praist a 
herrytick, but, faith, he prays like a saint. He looks 
like an old prophet. Oim a purthy lookin' bird to 
come a fadin' the old prophet ; raven, is it ? More 
like a crow ; sure, oim black enough for ayther," 
looking at his hands grimed with coal-dust. 

A deep silence followed the prayer. The old peo- 
ple were both upon their knees when they were 
startled by a loud knock. Before they could open 



4r± From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



the door, Mike, the coal-driver, staggered in. He 
had a bag of coal on his back and a basket on his 
arm. Placing the coal by the stove and the basket 
upon the table, he said : 

" The blissed book says, God sint a blackbird to 
fade a praist, and here he is." 

The old people looked at him and began to smile. 
The tears had plowed their way down Mike's cheeks 
through the black grime, and his face shone through 
in great white streaks and blotches. Mike looked in 
the mirror and roared with laughter at his comical 
appearance. Checking himself, he took off his cap 
and made a profound bow. 

" Your riverence, I heard that young shalpane giv- 
in' yez some sass about your coal-bill. The loikes of 
it, ez if it wern't honor enough for yez to burn his 
miserable old coal widout payiir for it. An* I fol- 
lowed ye like a snake-thaf e, dodgin' in the dark behind 
yez, and I heard that bloody-moinded thafe at the 
grocery insultin' ye. 1 sez to meself, sez I, ' The old 
praist sha'n't fraze this blissed night, if I have to 
sthale the coal.' An" mind yez, your riverence, I did 
sthale it. I sthole it from Bridget ; that's my old 
woman, your riverence. An', if I do say it, she's the 
best woman the Lord iver made, barrin' the prisent 
company.' Sez Bridget, sez she, ; Mike, you thafe, 



St. Michael the Raven. 



45 



I've caught you this time. I've heard you a talkin' 
about the old praist bein' cold and hungry, an' I've 
stholen a few bits from the children. An' moind 
ye, don't ye sphill it or I'll break your black head,' 
sez she. That was a bit of plisantry, your riverence. 
I sez, sez I, 'Bridget, you're a darlin',' an' when I 
kissed her I made a black spot on her nose that 
would have made your riverence die a laughin' to see. 
May the Holy Yergen an' all the saints bliss you an' 
fade you an' kape you warm an' see you safe home 
to hivin, but not be in any too great hurry about 
movin' ye !" 

He was gone. By the blazing fire a blessing was 
asked over the humble meal. The old minister said, 
looking at his wife : 

"I knew our Father had coal and bread. It's just 
like him, isn't it ? " 

The official board of the church had assembled for 
their last meeting before the Annual Conference. 
The pastor was requested to urge a larger appropria- 
tion for the superannuated minister. One brother, 
who was one of the selectmen, said : 

" You may as well say to the Conference stewards 
that if they do not provide for this old man's support 
lie will be taken to the poor-house. We do not pro- 
pose as a church to carry the burden any longer." 



46 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



CHAPTER Till. 

BITTER AS DEATH. 

THE Conference stewards were in session, consider- 
ing the claims of the superannuated ministers. 
The session was a secret one, as it was deemed un- 
wise to scandalize the Church by advertising the 
niggardliness of her dealing with her faithful 
servants. Reports were called for from the various 
applicants for aid. These were given in personal 
letters from the claimants themselves. We take a 
few as samples : 

" The heathen and the f reedmen have their eloquent 
pleaders. TTho is there to plead for us ? Anniversa- 
ries are held for every benevolence but the one which 
is the most important of all. How can God bless 
and prosper Methodism when she is so forgetful of 
those who laid the foundation of her greatness ? I 
gave the Church my life and labored many years for 
a smaller salary than I could earn digging in the 
streets. I am now old, helpless, and in need. The 
small allowance permitted me has been wasted by 
sickness, until we have been in real want. For weeks 
at a time we have not had either milk, butter, or meat 
upon our table." 



Bitter as Death. 



47 



This brother really wanted his apportionment in- 
creased $25. The committee had to decrease it $20. 
Another said : 

16 We have frequently been in circumstances of 
real poverty and depression, without food or means to 
purchase it. My wife cannot, when in health, go 
to church, because she has not suitable clothing. My 
only dependence is the aid from Conference. It is 
very painful to me to mention these things, and 
I would not had you not requested me." 

Another brother, eighty-one years of age, who was 
living with his venerable wife in a little country 
place, wrote: 

" I have obtained a part of my fuel by picking it 
up in farmers' woods, cutting and preparing it for the 
fire myself. We have dispensed with eating much 
fresh meat, and have lived among old friends that 
have been very kind. I have worn second-hand 
clothing, and in every way have tried to live cheaply ; 
and by the help of a good wife have been happy and 
cheerful, and there are no clouds to darken the skies 
of my future home but a small distance ahead." 

Another brother, eighty-four years of age, had an 
invalid wife and daughter to support. He said : 

" I have been superannuated now nineteen years, 
and I have not been able to get myself a Sunday coat 



48 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

during all this time. I wear the same one I had 
while preaching. My every-day clothes are of the 
cheapest material, and I have been obliged to go 
through this past bitter winter with only a pair of 
shoes, not being able to purchase either boots or over- 
shoes." 

A brother who had done faithful and effective 
service for forty-five years wrote : 

" I have been humbled enough to beg. I have 
been so cold and hungry and sorrowful that I was 
obliged to, and the end is not yet." 

Another brother wrote : 

" I am seventy-seven years of age and in very 
poor health. I have no income but what my friends 
are pleased to give me. .We have lived five years 
in damp basements, but hope to have the comfort of 
living above ground what little time we remain on 
earth." 

Another wrote : 

" I have been a Methodist minister in good and 
regular standing for over fifty years. I have been 
brought next door to the poor-house. I have not 
a woolen dresscoat or overcoat fit to wear in public. 
My wife said to me the other day if I should 
die soon or suddenly, which I am liable to do, being 
in my eighty-fourth year, they would have to get 



Bitter as Death. 



49 



a coat to lay me out in. Somebody wrote a note for 
The Christian Advocate begging a coat for a poor old 
preacher. The coat came, but it was too small. I 
said to my wife, 'I guess I had better keep it. I 
won't mind the tight fit when I'm dead.' " 
Another wrote : 

" I am unable to go to church because my ward- 
robe is in ruins. I cannot go out when it is wet and 
keep my feet dry. I am in debt $100 for pro- 
visions and doctor's bills. My wife did the house- 
work for our physician to pay for our board, but after 
four months she had to give up on account of sick- 
ness. We are now living on credit, with not a dollar 
on hand." 

There were fifty claimants on the worn-out preachers' 

fund of the Conference. These fifty persons, all told, 

received an income of $1,341.67, aside from what 

the Conference was able to give them. Only thirty of 

the fifty had any property at all, and these thirty 

really received this income of $1,341.67, and it 

averaged among the thirty a trifle over $44 apiece. 

The other twenty persons had not a dollar of property 

in the world, and, being old and feeble, were not able 

to earn any thing ; so that their entire support was the 

pittance from the Conference funds. 

The claim of our hero was decreased instead of 
4 



50 



From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



increased. The collections did not meet the appor- 
tionments. When the news reached the old minis- 
ter's home it caused an explosion. The owner of 
the mortgage waited upon the old man, and said : 

" The mortgage on this house exceeds its value. I 
cannot let my money lie here without interest. You 
must look for another house at once." 

" But where shall I go ? My wife is almost help- 
less, and I am not much better." 

" I do not know where you will go unless to the 
poor-house. Our selectmen say you cannot go to our 
poor-house, as you are not a resident of our town. 
You will be sent to the town where you were born." 



CHAPTER IX. 

ON THE ROAD TO THE POOR-HOUSE. 

THE Ladies' Sewing Circle met at the parsonage. 
The old minister at once became the subject of 
the conversation. Several of the ladies had favored 
the proposition to remove the old people to the poor- 
house, and be rid of the burden. Others had strongly 
opposed it, and denounced it as a burning shame and 
disgrace. 

The pastor's wife was a very young woman, and 



On the Road to the Poor-house. 51 

had come to their parsonage but a few days before as 
a newly wedded bride. She listened attentively to 
the conversation. A moment's silence followed the 
very vigorous remark of one lady, that " paupers 
ought not to expect any thing better than the poor- 
house." 

The pastor's wife slowly rose to her feet, her slight 
girlish form towering to its fullest height. Her face 
was snow-white, but her eyes were ablaze. All were 
startled to a deathly stillness by the strange tone of 
her voice as she asked, with great emphasis : 

" I beg your pardon, ladies, but of whom are you 
talking ? " 

A little hesitatingly, one lady said : 

" Of the old superannuated minister, who for years 
has been a burden upon our church and community." 

" Am I right in understanding that this old couple 
are to be taken to the poor-house ? " 

" Yes," said another lady, as she dropped her eyes 
before the searching glance of the white questioner ; 
" my husband is one of the selectmen, and he told 
them to be ready to-day." Taking out her watch, she 
said : " He is about there now. They are to take the 
three o'clock train." 

" Not while I have a shingle over my head or a 
crust in my house," said the minister's wife. " My 



52 



From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



father was a Methodist minister. He could not lie 
easy in his honored grave if I were to permit it. 
How can the people be so heartless ! Excuse me, 
ladies, I am going there at once." 

The circle broke up in great confusion. With 
scarce a word each lady hastened to her own home. 
Hurrying to her husband's study, the minister's wife 
told her story between her sobs. He listened in 
amazement. 

" It cannot be. It must be a mistake. I noticed 
that he looked very sad and dispirited when I called 
upon him yesterday. But, being such a stranger, I 
hesitated about asking him the cause." 

" Come and go with me, husband ; I cannot wait. 
Perhaps we are too late now." 

They hurried to the remote part of the village 
where the old minister lived. They saw the carriage 
of the selectman at the door. The old minister was 
just helping his feeble wife into the carriage as the 
minister and his wife reached the gate. 

" This is very disagreeable business, dominie," said 
the selectman. 

The young minister made no reply for an instant, 
as he sought to control his emotions. At length he 
said : 

" Lend me your carriage a few minutes." 



On the Road to the Poor-house. 53 

" Why, where are you going ? " 

The young man assisted his wife into the carriage, 
and, taking the reins out of the selectman's hand, the 
minister simply said : 

" To the parsonage. Good-day." 

The amazed town official watched the rapidly de- 
parting vehicle for a moment, then, with a long, low 
whistle, turned, and, closing the door of the old min- 
ister's house, sent the key by a boy to the parsonage. 

The whole town was aflame with indignation. 
Every sinner was thoroughly mad, and every saint 
was horribly ashamed. The promptness and boldness 
of the young minister had stirred every conscience. 
There was not a dissenting voice when Mike, sitting 
upon his coal-cart, shouted, as soon as he heard the 
news : 

" Three chares for the young praist an' the young 
praistess ! May they live foriver ; but when they do 
die, may they go to the poor-house where the Holy 
Vergen is the overseer. But bad luck to the mane, 
dirty lunk-head that tried to make a pauper out of the 
old prophet. God bliss the old saint and fade him 
on the fat of the land." 



54 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



CHAPTEK X. 

AN AQUA-FORTIS SERMON. 

THE village paper announced that the subject of 
the sermon at the Methodist church next Sunday 
morning would be, "Shall we send our heroes to the 
poor-house ? " A congregation was present that filled 
every inch of space. The text of the sermon was, 
" When I am old and gray-headed, O God, forsake 
me not " (Psa. 71. 18). 

The preacher gave a brief sketch of the life of the 
old pastor, and then said : 

" Thirty-five years have been given to self-denying 
and laborious service. Hundreds of souls have been 
converted through his ministry. A dozen churches 
are strong and well-to-do which he saved. This very 
church was in peril when he was its pastor. Of his 
poverty he gave as much as any of you. From his 
pastorate dates the beginning of your strength. For 
a pittance scarcely ecpial to the poorest toiler in your 
streets this man of God served you faithfully. What 
return have you made ? 

" You have been spared the crime of consummating 
a shameful and ungrateful act. Let us praise God 
for that ! 



An Aqua-fortis Sermon. 



55 



"You have societies to send the Gospel to the 
heathen, to educate the freedmen, to minister to the 
families of the vicious poor in your own midst ; have 
you done your whole duty by this sainted woman, this 
holy man? My cheek tingles with shame that my 
beloved Church in her days of strength and wealth 
doles out a miserable pittance to those who laid the 
foundation of her greatness. She ought to support 
these men and women as her first duty to Gocl. Give 
none the less for the heathen, the freedmen, or the 
unfortunate, but as you hope to escape God's wrath 
do not neglect or cause to suffer his children, who 
gave up all chance for earthly honor or profit for the 
service of God. As a thank-offering for being pre- 
vented from sending these old saints to the poor- 
house I want you to give one thousand dollars. This 
will pay for their little home, comfortably furnish it, 
and give them a small bank account." 

The owner of the mortgage upon the old minister's 
home arose, and with trembling voice confessed his 
harshness, and said, as a partial atonement for what 
he saw was a mean and contemptible sin, he would 
wipe out all unpaid interest and give one hundred 
dollars. 

The President of the Woman's Foreign Missionary 
Society spoke with deep emotion. She regretted that 



56 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



she had been so absorbed in her delightful mission 
that she had committed a grave wrong. " I have 
only thought of the heathen in foreign lands and have 
cared nothing for the needy saint next door. Our 
society authorizes me to pledge one hundred dollars 
as our share of this thank-offering." 

The President of the Woman's Home Missionary 
Society said : 

" I have been thoughtless and wicked. I have seen 
very clearly the black faces in the South-land but 
have been blind to the white-haired hero and heroine 
in my own home. Our society pledges one hundred 
dollars." 

The President of the Woman's Christian Temper- 
ance Union said, in a voice full of sobs : 

" I have wept over the drunkard's family, but have 
had no tears for the old minister in distress. I have 
spoken bitterly of the saloon-keeper. Alas ! I find I 
have been as cruel as he, and still I have been cher- 
ishing the hope that I was a Christian. Our society 
wishes to pledge one hundred dollars as our share 
of the thank-offering." 

Pledges came in thick and fast, until the pastor, 
lifting his hand, said : 

u We have raised one thousand dollars, keep the 
rest for another time." 



An Aqua-fortis Sermon. 



57 



" Hold on, your riverence. I'm not accustomed to 
shpakin' in matin', especially Mithodist matin's. But 
when I heard you was going to preach the risurrection 
sermon of the old praist I wanted a hand in the job. 
My own praist will make me do pinance for bein' 
here at all, but I'm under orders I'm afraid to disobey. 
Sez Bridget, sez she — Bridget is Mrs. Corrigan, your 
riverence, and I'm Mike Corrigan ; Bridget, she's my 
ould woman — sez Bridget, sez she, ' Mike, if yez'll go 
to the Mithodist matin' an' shpake a few w^ords, I'll 
pray to the Vergen to be kind of aisy wid yez for the 
mortal sin. There's the money for the new gown I 
was goin' to git, an' there's the money for the chil- 
ders shoes — they can go barefoot this summer ; an' 
Mike,' sez she, wid a sly glance out of the corner of 
her eye, 'if you'll take the money you was goin' to 
shpend for the beer an' the pipe, shure it would 
make a dacint nist-egg for the ould praist.' I sez,. 
' Bridget,' sez I, ' my swate-heart, if yez can go widout 
your new gown an' the childer can go barefoot for 
the ould praist, I would be maner than a thavin' sphal- 
pane if I couldn't go widout my pipe an' beer; an'.' 
I sez, sez I, ' I will touch nayther agin while the ould 
praist is hungry an' cold.' Sez Bridget, sez she, ' May 
the ould praist niver fraze or starve, but kape just cold 
an' hungry enough to decave you into kapin' your 



58 



Fkom the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



pledge.' When I told her for the ould praist's sake I 
would take the pledge for a hundred years, sez Bridget, 
sez she, ' Mike, your a blissid ould darlinV an' she 
cried an' she laughed an' hugged me till I thought 
she'd break, every bone in my body. I sez, sez I, 
' Bridget, darlin', be aisy wid yez ; ye'll be afther hug- 
gin' me to death entirely.' An' at that she kissed me 
on the chake an' set my heart on fire, an' it is burn- 
in' yet. I fale as if a daper work of grace or some- 
thing afther that fashion was goin' on inside of me. 
Here's twinty dollars from Mike an' Bridget an' the 
childer. An', if yez'll not take offince at my liberty, 
I will close my fable remarks by axin' the audience 
to join me in three chares for the ould praist, an' a 
tiger for the ould lady." 

Mike led off with three lusty shouts and most of 
the congregation joined him. His hearty tiger at the 
end was echoed by a hallelujah from the amen-corner 
that made even the minister smile. 

For several years the old minister and his wife re- 
mained the loved and honored guests of every home, 
and finally were laid away to rest with tears from 
every eye in town. 



Tacts More Terrible Than Fiction. 59 



CHAPTEE XL 

FACTS MORE TERRIBLE THAN FICTION. 

THE preceding story is a romance. It is therefore 
dismissed as unreal, because it is the invention of 
the imagination. 

No novelist need invent a tale to melt the heart ; 
he needs but to record the story of some real life. 
We give two life-stories, in brief, that need no roman- 
cer's art to make them tales of thrilling pathos. 

Just one hundred years ago a lad of thirteen gave 
God his heart. An older brother had heard a sermon 
from an earnest Methodist preacher. His influence 
upon his young brother led him to Christ. The lad 
was early called to preach. Before lie was twenty-one 
years of age he was licensed to exhort and the next 
year he was appointed a junior preacher upon a circuit 
which embraced six hundred miles of travel and 
more than sixty preaching places. 

Among the fruits of his first year's* labors was the 
conversion of a man who afterward became a Bishop 
of the Methodist Episcopal Church. The next year 
the young man was received into Conference and be- 
gan a long itinerant career. He was received into full 
connection after two years' probation by one of the 



60 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



first Conferences in the Church, which has now grown 
to six great Conferences. The record sajs of him : 
" He is a f aithful and useful preacher. After due ex- 
amination he was unanimously voted into the con- 
nection and elected to the office of a deacon in our 
Church:' 

His itinerant life reads like an incredible romance. 
He had long rides over bad roads ; he crossed rivers 
without ferry-boats ; among his experiences were 
buffeting storms, breaking roads, sleeping in open 
cabins and log huts, with coarse and scanty fare. He 
threaded forests by marks upon the trees ; his horse 
was dangerously lacerated in fording streams amid 
the ice ; the stars shone upon him through the log- 
cabin in which he sought shelter. The total salary 
at this time of the twenty-two members of the Con- 
ference, of whom but four were married, was §2,206 ; 
the receipts were 81,518. Driven from the active 
work by inability to support his family he located ; 
but for twelve years did as much work without any 
salary as he had ever done while in the itinerancy. 
He re-entered the itinerancy and was three years a 
presiding elder. 

After preaching five years he was again compelled 
to locate. After eight years trying to support his 
family and preach as a local preacher he again re- 



Facts More Terrible Than Fiction. 



61 



entered the itinerancy, and for twelve years more 
served the Church. He was compelled through the 
infirmities of age to superannuate after having given 
forty-four years to the ministry — twenty years with- 
out any salary, and twenty-four with the barest pit- 
tance. About the time this old minister superannu- 
ated a presiding elder in his Conference issued an 
appeal in the interest of superannuated preachers. 
A few quotations from this will give a fair idea of 
the condition of the class of ministers to which this 
veteran was retired : 

" Many of these men are distressingly poor. They 
find it exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to make 
their families comfortable without involving them in 
debt when there is little if any probability of paying. 
Their principal, if not entire, dependence is the 
scanty pittance paid them annually by the stewards, 
which, in most cases, is less than one fourth of 
the sum judged by the General Conference to be 
only sufficient to afford them a comfortable sup- 
port." 

" With you, brethren of the laity, are the means 
of affording relief from hunger and want and tears 
those whom Providence and the Church have cast 
upon you for support. The suppressed groan of 
the broken-down minister, the flowing tear of his 



62 



From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



distressed widow, the piercing cry of his hungry or- 
phan all come up before God against you. 'Behold, 
the hire of the laborers who have reaped down your 
fields, which is of you kept back by fraud, crieth : 
and the cries of them which have reaped are entered 
into the ears of the Lord of Sabaoth.' Now, brethren, 
can you, will you, suffer those who have traversed 
your pathless forests, forded your bridgeless rivers 
and streams, sought you in your retired and humble 
cottages, and suffered with you from the pinching hand 
of hunger and want ; will you, I inquire, suffer their 
sun to set in the dense cloud of poverty and want ? 
Think on the days when in your poverty you cheer- 
fully divided your last meal with them, so glad were 
you to have their counsels, instructions, and prayers 
in your families, and suffer them not to go hungry 
while you have enough and to spare. Is it now noth- 
ing to you that those who have spent their lives for 
you and yours until broken down and unable to do 
more should linger out their remaining miserable 
years in distress and want ? Have you, brethren, no 
feeliugs of pity, if destitute of moral justice, to impel 
you to afford relief? According to the exhibit of 
the secretary of the Conference twelve cents from 
each of you will raise the needed sum." 

Alas ! that it must be recorded that, despite repeated 



Facts More Terrible Than Fiction. 63 

appeals as eloquent as this, the collections amounted 
to less than one cent per member. 

After eighteen years of superannuation he died, 
leaving to an unmarried daughter the care of an invalid 
wife. His small farm brought a few hundred dollars, 
and the Conference made the widow an allowance of 
$21.76 for the year; which was as large a sum as 
was given to any claimant. The widow died, and the 
daughter had the care of an invalid sister, for many 
years toiling to support her as well as care for her in 
her helplessness. At last, after a life-time of hardest 
toil, this unmarried daughter found herself friendless, 
penniless, and almost helpless. She was unable to 
work ; she was ashamed to beg. She went to the 
authorities of the town where her father had re- 
tired as a superannuated minister and asked to be sent 
to the town farm. There, within a few miles of the 
city where her father had helped found Methodism, 
where he had been a presiding elder for three years, 
in a circuit of churches in each of which her father 
had established the first class, she remained two years 
in the poor-house. 

Some one sent her a bundle of Church papers. She 
found in the New York Christian Advocate an article 
from the author of this book. She wrote a letter to 
him, as the article requested, in which she said : 



64 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

" I am not a veteran or a Conference claimant, yet 
I want to write you, hoping to receive a word of 
sympathy. After long years of suffering and hard 
work I was at last brought to the last resort — that of 
calling on the town ; so here I am at the town farm, 
& pauper, with the bright prospect of filling a pauper's 
grave. But there is a silver lining to this dark cloud : 
Christ is mine and a sweet assurance that when done 
with earth heaven is mine. If you will write me a 
letter full of sympathy and good advice it would 
cheer me on my way greatly. Poor human nature 
sometimes craves human aid; now, my family and 
friends all gone to the other and better land, I 
seek for sympathy from the friends of Jesus." 

Without a legal claim upon Methodism the daughter 
of a man who gave forty-four years to the Church — 
the fruits of whose labors, with that of his heroic as- 
sociates, appear in great Conferences numbering many 
thousand church members — had a moral claim that 
could not be ignored without grave wrong. 

The author investigated the case and found it to be 
as we have already described. He authorized her 
transfer from the poor-house to a comfortable home ; 
he interested others in the story, and secured contri- 
butions to provide for her until the Conference which 
her father helped found came to her relief. The day 



Facts More Terrible Than Fiction. 65 



this veteran's daughter went " over the hill from the 
poor-house " she wrote these words as the conclusion 
of a tender, tearful, thankful letter : " O, how good 
the Lord has been, and how he has helped me all these 
dark years. It has been a thorny way, but Christ has 
led me, blessed be his name, and the crown is now but 
just a little way ahead ; 'tis mine, 'tis mine, I know 
it. Jesus says it ; 'tis true. And now, dear brother, 
let me thank you again and again, and I know heaven 
will bless you. Yours in Christ." 

* # * # * 

The next story from real life is taken from recent 
numbers of the California Christian Advocate. Nos. 
I and II are editorials, No. Ill is a contribution. 

I. 

" Rev. Stanford Ing is not dead, but only superan- 
nuated, which is far worse. He belongs to the St. 
Louis Conference, and has been a pioneer, a vidette 
on the picket-line, all the time. He is a hero and 
almost a martyr for Christ's sake. The Church has 
used him as a bearer of great burdens, a toiler in one 
of its hardest vineyards. He has lived and wrought 
uncomplainingly and most devotedly, for he has been 
a saint as well as a hero. Stanford Ing has stood 

wintry storms and summer heat, and fought with 

5 



66 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



' wild beasts,' as Paul called them, a hundred times. 
He had a tough, wiry constitution, and so lived on 
amid great perils and labors until old age compelled 
him to stop. At the last session of the St. Lonis 
Conference this veteran minister asked for a super- 
annuated relation. Scarred and worn and old and 
weather-beaten, he had to cease going out to the bat- 
tle. His brethren were deeply affected. They wept, 
they shouted, they gathered around their aged friend 
and brother, and embraced him and shook his withered 
hand. Xow we hope that Brother Ing has enough 
to keep him from the poor-house the rest of his life. 
A sort of faint remembrance runs through our mind 
that he has a farm or a house and lot, or something of 
the kind. At all events, he is now superannuated. 
He may have saved his old clothes and laid up some 
old shoes, and his aged and frugal wife may have 
gathered up a few things. If they have not done 
this, God pity them ! We had the curiosity to look 
up the record as found in Rev. Jay Benson Hamil- 
ton's little paper, Our Veterans, and see just what 
Rev. Stanford Ing is likely to get from his Confer- 
ence, now he is old and broken down and superan- 
nuated. He will receive just about $62 a year,* and 



* These figures are taken from a table giving average allowances by Annual 
Conferences. 



Facts More Terrible Than Fiction. 67 



if he should die his widow would get $13 a year — • 
that is, the Methodist Episcopal Church takes the 
man's last inch of strength and life and then turns 
him out to die on the munificent endowment of $62 
a year. Nobody helps any but the St. Louis Confer- 
ence, and that, after doing its best, has only $62 for 
Brother Ing. Indeed, the brethren do well to weep 
at Brother Ing's superannuation. We can scarcely 
refrain from weeping every time we see an aged min- 
ister superannuated, unless we know he has enough 
to live on. The very largest sum given to any super- 
annuated man is $300 ; the annual gifts run from 
that down to $5. Yes, some superannuated men get 
$5, some $7, some $20, and so on up to $300, and 
then beneficence utterly breaks down. Here, then, is 
a spectacle. Stanford Ing is as much our brother as 
if he belonged to California. He spends a long life 
in heroic work, and the Church even cannot force 
him into another battle-field, but dismisses him with 
the magnificent sum of $62 a year. If you would 
like to know what we privately think of that, call, and 
we will tell you what we do not wish to publish. No 
wonder aged ministers pray that they ' may cease at 
once to work and live.' The very best done for any 
of our veteran, broken-down ministers is pitifully in- 
adequate. The worst done is criminal, and makes one 



68 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

mad. Stanford Ing ought to be supported handsome- 
ly and without a single burden to the end. He de- 
serves a palace and a throne, and God will give him 
these. ' O Lord, how long ? ' " 

II. 

" Kev. Stanford Ing was superannuated at the last 
session of his Conference. He is a fair specimen of 
a type of itinerant preachers that may die out, though 
we hope not. He was a pioneer, brave, true, and 
useful. Our editorial produced unexpected results. 
It was noticed beyond any hope we had of it. Some 
time after it was published a lady called at our house 
and said : £ I have read your article on Stanford Ing, 
and I think such men ought not to suffer. Please 
send this to him,' and she handed us $100. We sent 
that to Brother Ing, and have before us his receipt 
for it and a touching letter. He says : 4 Your letter 
came duly to hand, bringing to me a draft for $100, 
for which I do most sincerely thank the unknown 
donor, and you I do most heartily thank for such 
kind attention. I do not understand it ; it has wholly 
taken me by surprise. ... I said on the Confer- 
ence floor at the time of my superannuation, "The 
inevitable has come and I cheerfully submit, but it 
has come at a time that I am less prepared for it than 



Facts Moke Terrible Than Fiction. 69 



I have been for twenty years." My Conference gave 
me $75. But to think that this gift of $100 has 
come to me from the Pacific coast so unexpectedly 
overcomes me. You said it came from God. Very 
well, as such I receive it and thank him. But his in- 
strument comes nearer to my senses, and I can under- 
stand it better. So I do most sincerely thank you 
and the unknown lady, and I ask you to convey to 
her the thanks of myself and wife. We shall ever 
remember her. The gift comes to us opportunely, 
as it will help us to prepare a home and shelter for 
the coming winter. We will make it serve the best 
ends possible.' The rest of his letter is entirely pri- 
vate. 

" This affair discloses one of those sorrowful depths 
we dread to look into. Surely, the Methodist Epis- 
copal Church will not permit the shameless and 
wicked impoverishment of worn-out and aged minis- 
ters to continue. We have determined to begin 
somewhere, law or no law, and help some of these 
suffering men in their old age. The cases should be 
taken up seriatim, if no other way, and helped. We 
have but little patience with vain excuses about the 
matter. We, too, thank the Christian lady who sent 
the $100 to a poor, aged, and broken-down preacher. 
The California Conference is able to take care of its 



70 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



own dependent preachers and their widows. We 
suggest for this year a Veterans' Day ; for instance, 
the first Sunday in August, and a careful effort to do 
a most blessed deed of love and charity. We do not 
dwell upon this case for any purpose but to glorify 
God and help worthy men." 

III. 

" Having read with considerable interest the articles 
in the California Advocate concerning Rev. Stan- 
ford Ing, a recent superannuate of the St. Louis Con- 
ference, I have thought it only clue to that grand old 
man, and likely to help the cause of the superannu- 
ates, to give some reminiscences of his life when 
Missouri's brave sons were called to stand 

' Between their loved home and the war's desolation. 7 

k ' In the summer of 1S61 the Thirteenth Pegiment 
of Illinois Volunteer Infantry, Colonel John B. "Wy- 
man commanding, was guarding the town of Holla, 
Mo., the then terminus of the S. W. P. P. P., and 
the depot of supplies for the Army of the South-west. 
One morning a tall, thin man about fifty years of 
age, dressed in black, approached the guard-line and 
asked to be conveyed to head-quarters. When in the 
presence of the commanding officer, he stated that he 



Facts More Terrible Than Fiction. 71 



was a Methodist minister in charge of a circuit occu- 
pying the surrounding country. He also stated that 
his people and himself were Union in sentiment, and 
because of this had been subject to continuous annoy- 
ance from secession neighbors and armed guerrillas. 
His male members, he further stated, were then hid- 
ing in the woods and caves, being driven from their 
homes by armed bands, and if the women and chil- 
dren could be brought into Holla and protected, the 
men were ready to enlist in the United States service. 
Satisfying himself that the statements of the stranger 
were true, the colonel fitted out one or two companies 
of mounted infantry to go out and bring in the 
women and children. When about to start the 
stranger turned to the colonel and said : 

" ' Colonel, you have armed all these men, but you 
have given ine no weapons.' 

" ' O,' said the colonel, ' you're a preacher, and are 
not expected to fight.' 

" £ Sir,' said the stranger, gravely, ' 1 have not 
preached a sermon for the last six months but my 
stewards and class-leaders have had to stand on either 
side of the pulpit armed ready to protect me while I 
preached. I think it is time to fight as well as pray, 
and if you will furnish the tools I will show you 
whether I can use them or not.' 



72 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 



" The colonel, pleased with his spirit, furnished this 
man, Rev. Stanford Ing, with a complete cavalry out- 
fit, and in the first encounter with the guerrillas the 
reverend gentleman brought in three or four of the 
enemy as prisoners of war. His daring and true 
military spirit charmed the officers in charge of the 
expedition, and on the return of Brother Ing and his 
male members they were mustered into the United 
States service as cavalry, and their pastor commis- 
sioned as captain. The class-leaders and stewards be- 
came commissioned and non-commissioned officers, 
and a veritable Methodist church was suddenly trans- 
formed into a military company. 

■'The captain held his class-meetings, prayer-meet- 
ings, and preaching services as regularly as circum- 
stances would allow. I was a frequent attendant at 
the captain's religious services, and received much en- 
couragement from him in my purpose to enter the 
ministry if I should live to get out of the war. 

" This militant church became the body-guard of 
General Curtis, and at the battle of Pea Pidge did 
such gallant service that the general, in taking leave 
of them shortly after, said : 

" ' I have never had under my command braver or 
more faithful soldiers than these praying and fighting 
Methodists.' 



Facts Moke Terrible Than Fiction. 73 



" While a brave officer and a thorough Union man, 
hating secession as treason, Rev. Stanford Ing never 
allowed himself to forget the Christian courtesy due 
to even an enemy. At Batesville, Ark., was a nice 
brick church belonging to the Methodist Episcopal 
Church, South. Coming to my tent one day, he 
said : 

" ' I have been to the general and have obtained per- 
mission to use the Methodist church for preaching 
services, so as to prevent its being taken for hospital 
uses, in which event the property would be greatly 
damaged. E"ow r , come with me and we will call on 
the preacher, tell him what we have done, and get 
the key.' 

" We went. The preacher was a young man and a 
pronounced secessionist. He treated our proposition 
with profound contempt, and said some very insulting 
things. The captain was aroused, and ordered the 
young man to at once accompany us to the sexton and 
get the key. We occupied the church as we con- 
templated, but the irate pastor never appeared at any 
of our meetings, though frequently invited. When 
our command left the town we turned over the key 
to the pastor, and the church was in as good condi- 
tion as when we first entered it. 

" After our departure other troops came in, and the 



71 From the Pulpit to the Poor-house. 

church was seized and used as a hospital, and greatly 
injured. 

" Captain Ing was greatly beloved, not only by his 
own men, but by all the troops who came in contact 
with him. It is sad to think that so heroic a man 
should be turned out in his old age to browse upon 
the cold, bleak moors of this world's charity with the 
single alleviation of $75 a year from the Conference. 

" The heroic spirit of our old men in the ministry, 
whose salaries in their prime were scarcely adequate 
for their then present wants, challenges our admiration 
and cries loudly for better support in their decrepitude. 

" The captain's military career was by no means his 
most heroic labor, though no braver man ever drew 
the sword or more gallantly led a cavalry charge than 
he, but it was that self-sacrificing labor he bestowed 
upon his circuits before and after the war, where low 
salaries and hard work were the uniform experience 
that was most heroic of all. Many of our old men 
have stood as gallantly by our country in its emer- 
gencies, and have toiled as patiently as he, and there- 
fore deserve, as does our hero, the most generous 
and kindly support." 

If any deem these exaggerations and exceptional in 
character, we have but a single word of reply. We 



Facts Moke Terrible Than Fiction. 75 



have but begun ; but we have gathered a large num- 
ber of incidents which are authentic as the records of 
actual personal experience. They are as pitiful and 
pathetic as ever romancer imagined. At an early 
date we shall give them to the Church. They will 
be sad and sorrowful ; some of them will be terrible 
and tragic. It is not shameful to reveal these facts ; 
it is sinful to permit them to exist. The evil can only 
be remedied by being made known. To all criti- 
cisms or denunciations we have no reply to offer but 
the epigram of a reformer whom the whole nation 
delighted to honor when dead. The men who 
mobbed him became the fathers of children who built 
a monument to him. His words are a motto well 
worthy every great reform : 

U I am aware that many object to the severity of my language ; 
hut is there not cause for severity ? I will be as harsh as truth, 
as uncompromising as justice. On this subject I do not wish to 
think, speak, or write with moderation. I am in earnest — I will 
not equivocate, I will not excuse, I will not retreat a single inch, 
and I WILL BE HEARD. The apathy of the people is enough 
to make every statue leapt from its pjedestal and to hasten the res- 
urrection of the dead. 1 " — William Lloyd Garrison. 



DISSOLVING VIEWS OF THE 
METHODISM OF 1989. 



T RECEIVED a letter from the widow of a Methodist 
X preacher which inclosed a manuscript, found among 
her husband's papers after his death, addressed to me. 
It was an incident intended to help create an interest 
in a great reform dear to his heart : 

" Your Old Men shall Dbeam Dkeams." Joel ii. 28. 

My wife met me at the door of the parsonage 
yesterday as I returned from an afternoon's pastoral 
visiting. She was greatly agitated and bitterly weep- 
ing. Alarmed and astonished, I said : " What is it, 
my dear ( " 

With difficulty she regained her composure enough 
to speak. After a moment's sobbing, she said : 

" Rev. William Brown, a superannuated minister, 
is in the parlor, and I want you to ask him to spend 
Thanksgiving with us." 

"Is that what you are ciying about ? " I said, as I 



Yiews of the Methodism of 1989. 77 

playfully patted her wet cheeks. For a moment her 
lips trembled, as if she must weep again, and then her 
face brightened into a smile. 

" Perhaps I am foolish," she said, " but he called at 
the door to sell pins, needles, and notions. He said he 
was an old preacher compelled by necessity to try to 
earn his bread. He was so badly crippled with rheu- 
matism that he could hardly walk. He seemed so 
frail and feeble that I invited him in to rest a little 
while. I told him you would be glad to see him. 
When I thought that we might, like him, come to 
want and distress in our old age it almost broke my 
heart. I just had to cry." 

Old Brother Brown was very glad to see me. He 
apologized for accepting my wife's kind invitation, 
but frankly said : 

" I could not have gone much farther without rest- 
ing. I am getting to be quite old and feeble now, 
you see. My widowed daughter, who has a houseful 
of little folks to care for, gives me a place in her little 
home, and I must try and help her earn our bread." 

I easily secured his consent to remain over night, 
and join us in our Thanksgiving dinner on the morrow. 
He was seventy-two years of age. He had preached 
for fifty years, and had received an average salary of 
$260 a year. His allowance as a superannuate was 



78 Yiews of the Methodism of 1989. 

$50 a year. He was very reserved about himself. 
He skillfully evaded all references to his own need or 
manner of living. He was shabbily and scantily 
dressed. He was to all appearances thin and ill from 
lack of proper nourishment. He was happy and 
cheerful; he never made a single complaint. He 
constantly referred with thankfulness to the many 
mercies God had bestowed on him. He bubbled over 
with reminiscences of his early ministry. The pri- 
vations and hardships of his itinerancy while young 
and vigorous were described with all the zest and 
pride with which a valiant soldier relates his battles 
and victories. At the supper-table I found my wife 
making great effort to conceal her emotion. I caught 
the contagion, and had once to wipe away a stray 
tear with my napkin. Old Brother Brown was very 
hungry, but his natural politeness had a severe tax to 
restrain within the bounds of propriety his vigorous 
appetite. Wife, with the skill and tact of a shrewd 
woman, continually tempted our guest to further 
eating after each movement which he made as if he 
was going to stop. She had some little delicacy or 
tidbit she herself had prepared, and wanted his 
opinion upon its quality. When lie expressed a 
favorable opinion, as he did every time, she insisted 
upon his trying a little more. Between the demands 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



79 



of his great hunger and my wife's little deceptions 
our aged brother ate until he had enough. 

After supper we were sitting in the parlor and he 
was resting quietly in the easy-chair, when he dropped 
off into a gentle doze. After a few moments of quiet 
he burst out into a hearty laugh, and said, gleefully : 
" Why, Francis Asbury ! Are you back again ? What 
do you want this time ? " 

Awakened by his own laugh, he arose and walked 
to and fro for a little while, as if in deep thought. 
He then sat down again in the easy-chair, and said to 
me : 

" Do you believe in dreams ? " 

I replied I did, if they were good dreams ; I always 
doubted bad ones. He laughed heartily, as if re- 
membering his own dream. 

" One of the old prophets said : ' Your old men 
shall dream dreams.' I always ridiculed dreams, and 
thought it very strange that Joel should associate 
dreaming with the outpouring of the Spirit. But I 
had a dream last Thanksgiving eve. If you would 
like to hear it I will relate it. Perhaps you would better 
write it down. It may amuse your little ones when 
they get older. 

" The day before Thanksgiving last year I was 
greatly worried. Our rent was over-due. Our land- 



80 Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



lord had been very pressing in his demands. He 
finally threatened that if the rent was not paid very 
soon, we would be turned into the street. My 
daughter's illness had prevented her earning as 
much as usual. My rheumatism had shut me in a 
great deal, and we were very sorely pressed. I had 
found myself growing bitter and censorious toward 
the Church. I often complained to my daughter that 
the Church I had served so long and so faithfully had 
forgotten me. I had not decent clothing to wear, and 
had to stay at home from church. Our rent was un- 
paid and our larder was empty, and to-morrow was 
Thanksgiving. Poor thing, she was white and thin, 
as much from lack of food as from sickness, but her 
smile was sweet and her words bright and cheerful as 
she said : 

" ' O, no ! father ; the Church does not forget us. 
And I am very sure the Lord will not ; for he said : 
" I will never leave thee nor forsake thee." I cannot 
always see, father, dear ; but I trust him all the time. 
We will have a happy Thanksgiving to-morrow, even if 
it is a fast-day with ns all. I am sorry for the children ' 
— and her voice trembled a little — ' I am sorry for you, 
my dear old father. I am so glad I have for a father 
a veteran who has been a hero in so many conflicts. 
I don't believe after fifty years of valiant service he 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 81 

is going to become a coward and lower his colors 
now.' 

" I kissed her white face, and said : 

" ' God bless yon, my child. Your old father fears 
he is too heavy a burden for these weak shoulders 
to bear much longer. I am in a hurry to get home 
for your sake.' 

" She simply smiled, and said : 

" ' It will be time to seek better quarters or worse 
when I turn you out.' 

" While she was out trying to earn a little money 
for our Thanksgiving day's bread, her youngest child, 
a little fellow, came to me and said, in a sturdy boy- 
fashion : 

" 6 Grandpa, I don't believe the Bible is true.' 

" I smiled at his earnestness, and said : 

" ' Well, go and bring it in and we wJl burn it up. 
We don't want any lying book about this house.' 

" He hurried into his mother's bedroom and brought 
me the old family Bible. He held it and looked at 
it a little while without speaking, and then said : 

" i I hate to burn it, grandpa. Mother will miss it 
so much. You will miss it, too. Us children will 
miss its beautiful stories. It's grandma's book, too ; 
she used to read it to us before she died. I guess we 

won't burn it just yet, if it does tell one lie.' 

6 



82 Views of the Methodism of 1989. 

" 6 Where does it tell a lie, my son ? ' 

" He quickly turned to Psalm xxxvii, 25, and read : 
' 1 have been young and now am old ; yet have I 
not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging 
bread.' 

" No infidel ever so completely puzzled me in all 
my ministry as did that little fellow, with piercing 
eye and ringing voice, as he said : 

" ' There ! what did I tell you ! ' 

"I knew that many nights this little brood had 
gone to bed hungry. I knew that there was not a 
mouthful in the house and no prospect for a bite for 
the Thanksgiving dinner to-morrow, save begging. I 
tried to speak, but could not, and, bursting into tears, 
I hurried to my own room and tried to pray. I could 
not pray. All the hard, bitter things I had thought, 
but had refused to cherish, now poured in upon me. 
I began to turn them over in my mind as a sweet 
morsel, and really took great comfort in feeling so 
miserable. My mood was made more bitter by hear- 
ing the sigh of my daughter as she entered the house, 
which told me her effort was fruitless. Our Thanks- 
giving was destined to be a day of fasting. I de- 
termined to write an article for The Christian Ad- 
vocate in which I would free my mind and tell some 
wholesome, bitter truths. It took me a long while, as 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 83 

I write very slowly now. After I had finished it I 
was surprised to find it so short. I smiled to find it 
as biting as it was brief. I said, with a grim smile : 

" ' It does not take much caustic to create a blister ; 
this, I guess, will make several.' 

" I began with a contrast between modern and 
olden-time Methodism. I pictured the worldliness of 
the Church ; the selfishness of the ministers ; the am- 
bition of the officials ; and ended by predicting that 
the class-meeting would be given up ; the prayer-meet- 
ing w T ould freeze up, and the sources of spiritual 
activity would dry up ; the pulpit w T ould become a 
platform ; the church would become a club ; public 
worship would degenerate into a popular gathering 
in which oratory and operatic singing would combine 
to make a service which it would be blasphemy to call 
religious or sacred. 

" As I read it aloud I forgot my hunger and pain, 
and laughed aloud as I said : 

" 6 That will make them smart and writhe.' 

" I heard a gentle rap at the door, and, thinking it 
was my daughter, I said : 

" < Come in.' 

" The door opened and a man entered. He was old 
and dressed in the costume of the ministers of my 
boyhood days. A shad-bellied coat, surmounted with 



84 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



a white choker, knee-breeches, long stockings, and low 
shoes made him seem like a picture of the olden times. 

" He made a profound bow, and said : 

" ' Is this Dr. Brown ? ' 

" I said : 

" ' My name is Brown, but I am no doctor.' 

" £ Indeed !' said he. ' I came to see you because 
I was informed you were about to doctor Methodism.' 

" ' Who are you ? ' I said, a little impatiently. 

" ' I am an angel,' he gravely replied. 

" I suspected he was crazy, and said, a little curtly : 

" ' You may be an angel, but if you are you are the 
first I ever saw in a shad-bellied coat and knee-breeches. 
Where are your wings ? ' 

" £ I don't need any wings. I have a flying-machine 
outside. I want you to take a ride with me.' 

" I knew now he was crazy, and decided it would 
be wise to humor him. I said : 

" ' I am a little afraid of those new-fangled ma- 
chines. I prefer one I can handle easily. When I 
go out for a long midnight trip I always ride a 
broom. But what is your name ? ' 

" 4 Francis Asbury,' was the answer, a little sternly, 
as if he resented my last remark. 

"I looked at him closely and recognized him at 
once. I turned from him to look at the large steel 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



85 



engraving which hung upon the wall. I noticed the 
striking likeness, and said : 

" ' I am glad to see you, Bishop Asbury. You have 
not changed much, save for the better. You seem 
younger than when you died.' 

" Without answering me, the bishop took up my 
article for The Christian Advocate, and, glancing at 
the heading, read aloud : 

" ' Forsake not the old paths.' 

" ' That is good,' said he, and proceeded to read it 
aloud. 

" It seemed so unkind, so unfair, and so unchristian 
that I was heartily ashamed. After reading it, my 
strange guest looked at me intently for an instant, and 
then, as his face lighted up with a smile of great 
beauty, he said, cheerily : 

" 6 Old comrade, it can't be that bad.' 

" To be called comrade by a bishop greatly startled 
me, until I remembered that he had been dead for a 
hundred years. 

" Asbury went on : 

" ' I have had my eye upon you of late. I have 
watched you growing bitter and harsh. Your priva- 
tions are souring your spirit. You are beginning to 
censure and slander the Church you have served for 
fifty years. You cannot afford to spoil the record of 



86 Yiews of the Methodism of 1989. 



half a century by a few uncharitable words in your 
old age. Your comrades are sweet, cheerful, and pa- 
tient. They rarely ever murmur or complain. Will 
you be the first to dishonor the veteran legion by be- 
coming an old scold ? If you are determined to dis- 
grace yourself and us we will save our credit and your 
honor by asking our Commander to discharge you 
from the service. I want to show you the Methodism 
of 1989. You will be the first to laugh at the fool- 
ish caricature contained in your predictions in this 
article. You will be sorry you ever wrote it.' 

" While he was speaking he led me out of the house, 
and assisted me to a seat in a strange-looking vehicle. 
It seemed to rise and move off like a bird. Asbury 
said : 

" ' We are in 1989. This is a flying-machine. You 
remember you ridiculed the possibility of flying, 
once.' 

" I recalled the very sermon in which I denounced 
the hair-brained folly of tempting God by attempting 
to fly. 

" *' It isn't safe to prophesy,' said Asbury. £ It may 
be you are as much mistaken about Methodism as you 
were about the flying-machine.' 

" I was too humbled to reply. 

" After a few moments Asbury said : 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 87 

" ' Here is a Methodist class-meeting ; let us go in 
and see what it is like.' 

" The room was neat, attractive, and cozy. It was 
filled by a happy, hearty company, whose faces indi- 
cated that they had religion and enjoyed it. The serv- 
ice began with a hymn. I recognized it, and my heart 
leaped within me as every voice joined in singing. 
The leader, an old man, said : 

" ' Precious hymn of olden time ! When I was a 
little child my grandmother used to sing that very 
hymn. She said her father, a heroic veteran of the 
cross, used to take her on his knee and sing it. His 
name was Rev. William Brown. He was very poor 
all his life. He had a very hard time, but he never 
complained. He led many souls to Christ and counted 
all his trials and sorrows but light afflictions which 
only made his crown of glory brighter and more 
beautiful.' 

"I felt so ashamed I could scarcely refrain from 
bursting into tears. How I despised that miserable 
old Advocate article, and wondered what had ever 
become of it. When I remembered how capacious 
Dr. Buckley's waste-basket was I cherished a hope 
that perhaps it had found in it a dishonorable burial, 
never to find a resurrection. 

" You can hardly imagine my feelings as I sat in 



88 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



that class-meeting, led by my daughter's grandson, a 
hundred years after I was dead. The meeting was 
cheerful, instructive, and spiritual. Near the close 
of the meeting a young man arose, and said : 

" ' I have been greatly interested in an old book 
which our leader loaned me this week. It was a little 
memorial volume of his grandmother's father, Rev. 
William Brown. It described his privations and suf- 
ferings. The record of his faithful labors was very 
impressive. He toiled for half a century with hard- 
ly enough to eat or wear. His family were often 
without food ; yet he never was known to complain. 
He was sweet and cheerful and hopeful. He was ac- 
customed to say to his children and grandchildren : 
" To preach the Gospel of Christ is the highest honor 
ever bestowed upon a human being. It is such 
a privilege and blessing to win souls to my Master 
that I wonder I have been counted worthy to share 
in this holy work. In it bread and water are a royal 
feast. My labors have been so worthless, and my 
wages so great, that I have been infinitely over-paid, 
and now in addition I am to have eternal life." 

" c Brothers and sisters, I have long wavered as to 
my own duty. But as I have read this brief story of 
the sainted hero who has been in heaven for a hun- 
dred years, I covet his joy and want to win a crown 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



89 



like his. God has called me to preach, and I obey 
him. From this time forward I shall devote myself 
to my Master's service.' 

" I broke down and sobbed aloud. They did not 
notice it, as immediately a regular old-fashioned 
shouting melody burst forth from every heart and 
mouth. Asbury hurried me out, and we flew on. 

" 6 Here is a church with a public service about to 
begin ; let us join in the worship,' said Asbury. 

" The room was large and plain. It was crowded. 
The moment I entered I exclaimed : 

" 6 Here is what I have been long wanting to see. 
A perfectly ventilated church. The air is as pure as 
it is out-doors.' 

" 1 That is so,' said Asbury ; ' I wonder how they 
do it.' 

" The service was simple, earnest, and hearty. The 
preacher was a man in the prime of life, vivacious, 
practical, and full of common sense. One striking 
feature was the music. A powerful pipe-organ, a 
grand piano, and a full orchestra supported and ac- 
companied the solo and chorus singing of a large and 
well- trained choir. The people all sang sweetly and 
soulfully. 

" Asbury said : 

" ' Methodism has robbed the theater and ball-room 



90 Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



of their chief charm. Music is one of her most pow- 
erful agencies. The best music in every community 
now is heard in the Methodist Church.' 

" By some mysterious arrangement the house could 
be darkened instantaneously, and a stereopticon pict- 
ure of great beauty was thrown upon the wall at the 
right of the preacher. It had a charming and im- 
pressive effect. 

" Asbury said : 

" ' Methodism has borrowed from Roman Catholi- 
cism pictorial illustrations of religious truth. Art 
and music are now, as in the earlier Church, the hand- 
maids of religion. The best artists confine them- 
selves, as did the old masters, almost wholly to relig- 
ious and biblical subjects.' 

" The sermon was from the text, 6 Forsake not the 
old paths.' I cringed as it was announced, as I re- 
membered that slanderous article I had written about 
Methodism. The pastor said in his introduction that 
the sermon had grown out of a simple incident, almost , 
an accident. 

" ' I received from an agevi relative an old book. It 
was a memorial of my father's grandfather, He v. 
William Brown. He was one of the pioneer itiner- 
ants, who helped lay the foundations of Methodism. 
He had served the Church fifty years for a bare pit- 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 91 

tance, but he had greatly blessed the Church by his 
labors. Many strong churches grew out of the feeble 
societies he planted. The conversions during his 
ministry were several thousand, among whom were 
scores of ministers. The little book contained the 
funeral addresses, the obituary, published in The 
Christian Advocate, and testimonials to his fidelity 
and patience, to his unruffled sweetness of disposition, 
and spotless purity of life. He was the instrument, 
under God, of the beginning of this church. He 
preached in the old school-house when this great city 
was a small village. He helped build the first church 
and preached one year as its pastor. I have a great 
surprise, and I know a great pleasure, in store for you.' 
Instantly the house was darkened and my portrait 
was shown in a beautiful stereopticon picture. 
"Bishop Asbury said : 

" 4 You have not changed much, save for the better ; 
you look younger than you did when you died.' 

" I found my heart full almost to bursting as the 
preacher, with fiery eloquence, urged the congrega- 
tion to emulate the faithfulness and imitate the spirit- 
ual activity of the very days I had denounced in my 
scandalous libel as worldly, selfish, and corrupt. I tried 
to rise and confess my un worthiness to receive all this 
eulogy, but Asbury hurried me out, and we flew on. 



92 



Yiews of the Methodism of 1989. 



" ' We are now going to attend a Methodist Annual 
Conference,' he said. 

" It was in a large city. The church was a magnifi- 
cent temple upon the principal street. We were in 
time for the opening exercises. The Conference be- 
gan just as it did the first session I attended when a 
boy, seeking admission on trial. 

" ' And are we yet alive 

And see each other's face ? 
Glory and praise to Jesus give 

For his redeeming grace.' 

" The old hymn made the arches of the great temple 
echo and re-echo as the preachers sang with lusty 
fervor. 

" The ritual service for the sacrament, unchanged 
in a single word, seemed like an echo of other days 
which subdued and melted my soul. The printed 
list of preachers and their hosts was read with de- 
light. 

" £ I was afraid they would have a Conference Bu- 
reau of Entertainment and would board the preach- 
ers out,' I said. 

" Asbury replied : 

" ' No ; Methodist hospitality, like Methodist theol- 
ogy, never grows old.' 

" The routine of Conference business was but little 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 93 

changed. The addresses at the anniversaries sounded 
very familiar. I even recognized some things in the 
episcopal address to the candidates for admission 
and for ordination. The session at which the char- 
acters of the elders were called for examination was a 
great surprise to me. I expected each man to arise 
and state the contributions of his church toward the 
benevolences, mentioning all by name, and whether 
or not he had reached the ten million dollar line, and 
add as a postscript how many subscribers he had 
secured for The Christian Advocate and the Meth- 
odist Review. Imagine my surprise when each man 
answering to his name spoke of his own religious 
experience and the spiritual condition of the work 
which had been committed to him. The report was 
not about dollars, but souls. Interruptions by song 
and shout were frequent. It seemed like a gigantic 
old-fashioned class-meeting. I myself shouted sev- 
eral times. I think Asbury did once or twice, too. 
When it was over the bishop led the Conference 
in a tender prayer for the baptism of the Holy 
Spirit. 

" I asked Asbury : 

" ' When do they report their collections ? ' 
" ' That is all changed. The Church does not ex- 
alt standards ; she inculcates principles. Methodist 



94 Views of the Methodism of 1989. 

giving has long since passed the Jewish standard of 
one tenth. Our people give to all benevolences with- 
out any " brass band " appeals. Our ministers do their 
duty without any Conference advertisement of either 
success or failure. The Church recognizes that min- 
isters are not ordained to raise collections or secure 
subscribers to Church periodicals, but to preach the 
Gospel and save souls.' 

" I noticed that old men were treated with a defer- 
ence almost like reverence. 

" Asbury, noticing my surprise, said : 

" ' The Church has learned that experience is as val- 
uable to the minister as to the physician or lawyer. 
Old men are valued in the ministry as in all other 
professions. Age is no barrier to the best places. 
The white head is a crown of honor. The young 
man does not step from the theological seminary to 
the great metropolitan pulpit. He is placed upon 
probation, after the good old fashion. The hard work 
is all done by the young men. If there is an easy 
place or light work it is always reserved for the 
feeble old man. Ordination to the ministry receives 
its full recognition now. Every living minister of 
pure life and character is given such work as he is 
able to do. The old and broken-down veteran is the 
beloved ward of the Church, and all his wants are 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 95 

lovingly and bountifully supplied, not as a charity, 
but as a just and honest debt.' 

" The Veterans' Anniversary was the great event of 
the Conference session. A member of the Confer- 
ence who was to superannuate preached his semi- 
centennial sermon. It was no mournful lament, but 
a ringing, rousing battle-cry. It was full of remi- 
niscences and sparkled with fun. The old hero looked 
back over fifty years of service with joyful pride; 
he looked forward to an evening time of rest with 
composure and peace. Among many incidents which 
illustrated his address one made a very strong impres- 
sion upon me. It compared 1989 with 1889, greatly 
to the latter's discredit. 

" The speaker said : 

" ' I have had a glimpse of one feature of our 
Church history which modern historians take no de- 
light in recording. The neglect of the veterans in 
the first century of Methodism was cruel and shame- 
ful. It was not an intentional wrong, but one of the 
accidents of the marvelous expansion and growth of 
the Church. In a hurried march or a forced retreat 
soldiers are more anxious to conquer or escape than 
to care or provide for those who fall out by the way. 

u ' I have a friend who is somewhat of an antiqua- 
rian. He has had re-printed as a curiosity a fragment 



96 Views of the Methodism of 1989. 

of a sensational romance entitled From the Pulpit 
to the Poor-house. It was published about a cent- 
ury ago. The name of the author is unknown. A 
fragment of the title-page gave it as " Rev. Jay 
Bens — This is supposed to be a portion of the 
nom cle plume of an anonymous writer. The author 
portrayed the sufferings of an itinerant who was neg- 
lected until he was about to be taken by the town 
authorities as a pauper to a charitable institution. 
The story breaks off abruptly just as the old minister 
and his wife are placed in a carriage to take the train 
for the poor-house. The concluding chapters are lost. 

" ' While the romance is confessedly of the charac- 
ter of works like Uncle Tom's Cahin, we find from 
letters from veterans included in the romance, as well 
as from the history of the Church, that much of the 
stir it created was because it was too true to life to 
make comfortable reading for either the laity or min- 
istry. My antiquarian friend has printed with it an 
engraving of a famous picture hanging in the histor- 
ical gallery of the Methodist Museum in the city of 
Manhattan. An excursion to this the greatest city 
in the world will be the event of one's life, if time is 
taken to visit the Methodist Book Emporium. No 
such building is on the globe to-day. The immense 
wing set apart as a museum for the rare products of 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



97 



Methodist archaeology is one of the wonders of our 
time. In the great picture gallery, among a vast col- 
lection of portraits and historical scenes is one of 
mournful, almost tragic, interest. It is entitled " The 
Lost Brother Found." It is a Conference scene. 
Bishop Gilbert Haven is introducing to a Methodist 
Conference one of the members, who had been found 
in the alms-house. The bishop had clothed the aged 
brother in a new suit and was presenting him to the 
Conference, who were standing upon their feet, being 
led in the doxology by Chaplain McCabe. The por- 
traits of the bishop and the chaplain are masterpieces. 
But with infinite art the veteran is placed so as to 
conceal his face. The long gray hair, the attitude, 
and pose of the old man are so pathetic that one can- 
not behold it without tears. This picture is engraved 
as a frontispiece for the fragment of the tale From 
the Ptdpit to the Poor-house. As I carefully ex- 
amined the picture and read and re-read the story, my 
heart was filled with gratitude to God that all this 
shame and suffering is over. 

" ' The veterans now are the honored and beloved 
wards of the Church. We are never without occu- 
pation while able to work. When unable for further 
labor our glorious Church smoothes our way to the 

grave with loving and generous bounty.' 
7 



98 Views of the Methodism of 1989. 

" One incident during the Conference session was 
the culmination of all the humiliating experiences of 
this wonderful night. 

" The Conference suspended its business to give place 
to a special anniversary service. This session of the 
Annual Conference was the one hundred and fiftieth 
anniversary of the founding of the church which was 
entertaining it. Addresses of remarkable interest 
recorded the wonderful history of the century and a 
half just closing. The last address was by a layman 
whose princely contributions to all benevolences had 
made this great church the standard-bearer of the 
denomination for many years. His address was sim- 
ple, pathetic, and powerful. It was a graphic descrip- 
tion of the founding of the church in weakness and 
poverty. The struggle of the little handful of people, 
the heroic devotion and faithfulness of the young 
preacher who was the first pastor of the church, were 
portrayed in words that thrilled the vast audience to 
tears and cheers alternately. The speaker said : 

" ' I desire, in closing, to relate a simple incident and 
give you a delightful surprise : 

" ' My father was the grandson of a Methodist 
preacher. The old minister lived with his widowed 
daughter, his only surviving child. They were desper- 
ately poor and often were without food. One even- 



Views of the Methodism of 1989. 



ing before Thanksgiving there was nothing to eat in 
the house. My father, who was then a small lad, said 
to his grandfather : 

" ' " Grandpa, I don't believe the Bible is true." 

« i « Well, go and bring it to me, and we will burn 
it. We don't want any lying book about this house." 

" ' My father brought the book, but said : 

" 6 " I hate to burn it, grandpa, mother will miss it so 
much. You will miss it, and we will all miss it. It 
was grandma's book, and I hate to burn any thing she 
loved. I guess we will keep it, if it does tell one 
lie." 

« < " Where does it tell a lie, my son ? " 

" ' My father read to him Psalm xxxvii, 25 : "I have 
been young, and now am old ; yet have I not seen the 
righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread," and 
said : 

" ' " There ! what did I tell you ! " 

" ' His grandfather burst into tears and hurried away 
to pray. My father cried himself to sleep that night 
because he had made his old grandfather weep. The 
only time the subject ever was mentioned afterward, 
the old minister said, in a trembling voice : 

" £ " My son, this book is God's word. He is our 
best Friend. He loves all his children ; he loves you. 
Give him your heart, and you will understand his 



100 Views of the Methodism of 19S9. 



word ; or, what is better, you will trust and love him 
even when yon do not understand him." 

" c My f atlier early gave God his heart. God blessed 
him with a large family, of whom I am the youngest. 
All became Christians. If I have ever done any- 
thing to bless the world and help the Church I owe 
it to my father. He gave me, as his most valued treas- 
ure, the very old Bible he wanted once to burn. Here 
it is. Precious book ! I would not sell it for a thou- 
sand dollars. It is holy from the touch of that hon- 
ored veteran, who, in his early ministry, founded this 
church and was its first pastor. I have had painted 
an oil portrait of our first pastor, my father's heroic 
grandfather, Rev. AYilliam Brown, to be hung in our 
beautiful chapel.' 

" The portrait was unveiled and presented to the 
bishop, who responded in a tender and thrilling 
speech. He closed by saying that he was all the 
more gratified to have a share in this historic service, 
as the man whose memory we thus honor was his 
mothers grandfather. 

" Asbury led me out convulsed with emotion. I 
said to Asbury : 

" ' 0, that miserable article ! I can never be really 
happy in heaven until I find Dr. Buckley, and know 
for certain that he buried it in his waste-basket and 



Yiews of the Methodism of 1989. 



101 



sent it to the paper-mill to be ground into pulp. What 
if, after all, it should yet be discovered to vex and 
shame my honored posterity.' 
" Asbury smiled, and said : 

" ' Don't worry, old comrade, I have that article in 
my pocket. Nobody ever saw it but you and me.' 

" I was so delighted that I turned to embrace the 
bishop, and I woke up. 

"Before me, upon the table where I had left the 
article, 4 Forsake not the old Paths,' I found a basket 
filled with every thing needed for a princely Thanks- 
giving dinner — turkey, vegetables, and all. Nuts and 
candy for the children showed that even the little ones 
were not forgotten. A card was in the basket, which 
said : 

" ' When next we ride together, you will never re- 
turn. Francis Asbury.' 

" I have never once in the year now ending had 
the slightest desire to complain of the Lord or his 
Church. Our life is full of privation, but it is full 
of trust, joy, and peace. I have never met Asbury 
since until to-night while I was dozing. I thought I 
saw him and heard him say : 

" ' We will have another ride together to-night, old 
comrade.' 



102 Views of the Methodism of 1989. 

" Perhaps I will have another dream to-night. If 
I do I will tell yon all about it in the morning." 

In the morning we knocked to arouse our guest for 
breakfast, but he made no reply. We opened the 
door and found that Brother Brown had gone off with 
Bishop Asbnry to receive his crown. He left his old 
worn and crippled body behind, which we laid away 
tenderly in the village church-yard until he should 
want it again. 



TOM THE PHARISEE AND JACK 
THE PRODIGAL. 



CHAPTER I. 

JACK THE PRODIGAL. 

" T T ELLO, Prod., you have returned to your 
J[ JL father's house, I see, and I am commanded 
to kill the fatted calf ; only the calf is a hen. How 
do you like traveling on foot to the far country ? " 

" Look here, Pharrie, old chap, don't tease so ; go 
easy on my travels. I can say harder things about 
my making such a fool of myself than you will dare 
to do. When I read the prodigal story I used to say 
the boy that ran away was a fool, but the boy that 
stayed at home was a knave. I'd just as soon be a 
prodigal as a Pharisee. You see, when we were put 
up you had all the piety intended for both of us and 
I had to take the deviltry of both to even it up. I 
am glad to get home, and you can't drive me away 
again, if you tease and torment me every hour of the 
day as you only can." 



104 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

" Forgive me, Jack, I was only fooling. Nobody 
is gladder to see you home again than I am. Only I 
do want to know all about your adventures ; how you 
escaped us, and how you were captured. Come, now, 
own up, and tell me the whole business, and I will 
promise never to tease you again, at least about that 
scrape." 

" Don't make that promise, Tom, for I know you 
can't keep it, and you have enough sins to answer for 
now. But I am perfectly willing to tell you all 
about my running away. It took me longer to do it 
than it will to tell about it. When that plaguey old 
# yellow fife which I played in the fife and drum corps 
whispered to me, ' Go to war ; yon will find it easy to 
climb from the drum corps to be drum-major, and 
then it will be but a step from drum-major to major- 
general,' like a great stupid I believed it all and started 
on foot with my every-day clothes on, not a cent of 
money, and no baggage but my old fife. I laid out the 
first night at the railroad station, intending to slip off the 
next morning with the enlisted men who were camping 
out while waiting for the special train. A good- 
hearted soldier shared his blanket with me, and I 
fared pretty well, although I was tired and hungry. 
About daylight the train arrived and I tried to slip 
aboard. I had iust taken a seat at one end of the 



Jack the Prodigal. 



105 



car when you and father came in at the other end. 
I dodged out like a flash and made a flying leap into 
a clump of bushes and hid until the train had gone. 
When I thought it safe to start I found my yellow 
fife with which I was to blow my way to fame was 
lost. It broke me all up, but I determined I would 
not back out, and I took up my march toward the 
camp one hundred miles away. I traveled all day, 
too proud to beg and afraid to steal. At a large 
town, which I reached about nine o'clock at night, I 
found a train about to move out, and I got aboard. 
When the conductor appeared I tried to make some 
excuse about having no money. He very curtly said 
to the brakeman, 4 Help this passenger to get off at 
the next station.' When it was time to get off I was 
in no hurry, but the brakeman was, and as he helped 
me down he held my collar for fear I might fall. It 
was dark as pitch, pouring rain, and the mud was six 
inches deep. A drunken man who had to be helped 
off just the same as me said : 

a < Where you goin' — hie — Bub ? ' 

" I told him I did not know. 

" £ Run away from home — hie — haint you, Bub ? — 
hie.' 

" I would have cried if I had been alone when he 
said ' home.' I could see every one of you, and you 



106 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



were all at table eating one of mother's good suppers, 
and I was nearly starved, and had the headache and 
sore feet, and was getting wet through. 

" The drunken man said : ' Come and go home with 
me ; if the old woman gives us any of her jaw — hie — 
between me and you we can lick her and kick her 
out of doors — hie. 5 

" I was glad to find a place to shelter me from the 
storm, but of all the wretched holes I ever saw, that 
shanty beat, The poor, wretched woman took pity 
on me and let me dry my clothes and eat my supper 
without a word. I never ate such bread. As I 
worked away at it I couldn't help but think of 
mother's light biscuits, and I came very near burst- 
ing out crying again. I stayed all night, and after try- 
ing to eat a little more of that awful bread for break- 
fast I thanked them and started on my journey. I 
traveled until about the middle of the afternoon. By 
that time my feet were so sore I could scarcely walk. 
I sat down upon the high bank alongside the rail- 
road and, taking of! my shoes and stockings, tried to 
rest, A freight train dashed by. In the caboose at 
the end, sitting at the open window and looking out, 
was father. As the train passed me he was almost 
near enough to touch me. We looked in each other's 
face just a second, and the train whirled along and he 



Jack the Prodigal. 



107 



was hid by a cloud of dust. "What I saw in his face 
just broke my heart, and I started for home as fast as 
my poor sore feet would let me. As I limped along, 
around the corner a man came toward me upon a 
dead run. It was father. He had got off at a little 
side station and was after me double-quick. He did 
not say one word. He just opened his arms, and I 
opened mine, and we ran together, and for about a 
minute we did some tall hugging, now, I tell you. I 
cried and cried, until father patted me on the head and 
said, smiling, while the big tears ran down his face : 
' Well, my son, have you had all the soldiering you 
want ? ' 

"I said : ' Yes, sir; I want to go home.' 

" We walked to the next station, and as I stood 
there looking through the window of a restaurant 
while we were waiting for the train, father said : ' I 
suppose hard-tack is pretty tough food for a soldier 
boy who is used to light biscuit ; suppose you try a 
pie for a change.' He bought the biggest pie in the 
whole ranch and just laughed and cried as I ate every 
blessed crumb. We got on the train and came home, 
and that's all." 

Tom's eyes were suspiciously wet, and his voice 
trembled a little as he said : " I'm glad it's over, Jack, 
and you're safe at home. It was a sorry old time 



10S 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



when we found you had really gone. Father walked 
the floor all night, and mother cried herself to sleep, 
and I thought of all the times I had teased and bul- 
lied you, and I felt mean and sorry, I tell you ; and 
promised if ever you got hack from war without 
being killed I'd let up on the nagging and joking. 
You won't surfer for want of it, you may be sure. 
The boys at school are just waiting to get hold of you. 
You will have to stand it and make the best of it. 
The first day will be a scorcher." 

After several days waiting for the sore feet to get 
well and rested Jack started to school, determined to 
be brave and good-natured. He expected to have to 
endure every indignity that shrewd and mischievous 
boys could invent. He was not disappointed. Every 
boy was on the look-out. As soon as Jack's sturdy 
figure appeared in sight one crowd formed as if they 
were a band, and. imitating every kind of music, pre- 
tended to escort him, as if he were a distinguished 
stranger. The rest formed two lines, and as Jack 
walked between them, all shouted together, " See, the 
conquering hero comes ! " All the joking was taken 
good-naturedly until one of the larger boys, the son of 
the church treasurer, made an insulting remark about 
raising the salary of the pauper minister so that he 
could waste a little more on his prodigal. The stinging 



Jack the Pkodioal. 



109 



taunt had hardly been spoken before Jack's hard fist 
had been dashed into the jeering face. " A fight ! a 
fight ! Let's see the soldier fight." Although Jack 
was very much the smaller boy of the two, his blood 
was up and he required no urging. To the amaze- 
ment of all, his activity and blood-earnestness and mar- 
velous pluck more than offset his antagonist's superior 
size and strength. Jack fought as if a nation's life 
depended on his victory. Utterly regardless of the 
blows that fell quick and heavy upon head and 
body, he clenched his burly enemy, and, being a famous 
wrestler, caught him in a lock by a neat trick he had 
learned, and threw him heavily. A convenient stone 
received the big boy's head, and the battle was over. 
Jack, feeling the strong frame which lie still held in 
a tight grip relax and lie still, sprang to his feet and 
shouted : " I've killed him ! I've killed him ! " 

Stooping down and trying to lift the injured boy, he 
was delighted to hear a groan, which proved him not 
dead, but only badly injured. Dazed and white and 
weak, he tried to stand, but fell limp and faint. " I'm 
whipped, boys. Served me right. Jack, forgive me ■ 
it was all my fault." 

The boys, crowd-like, shouted themselves hoarse 
over Jack's victory, and were ready to crown as a 
hero the unfortunate fellow whom a few minutes 



110 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

before they were jeering and tormenting as an object 
of contempt. 

Jack, panting, said, as lie wiped the blood from his 
badly battered face : " Fellows, I was an idiot to run 
away from as good a home as I had. I ought to be 
tormented to death for it. None of you chaps can 
say as mean things about me as I feel. I will take 
any thing, but I will fight any boy, big or little, that 
will insult my father. I've got the best father in 
town. He never jawed a mite, but just hugged and 
kissed and forgave me. I know he's poor ; but he 
could earn money if he wanted to. He's the strongest 
man in town. Bill's father is a big, strong fellow, as 
all blacksmiths are, but my father lifted a log the 
other day that Bill's father couldn't budge. Ain't 
that so, Bill ? " 

Bill cheerily said : " Yes ; father said the minister 
was stronger than a yoke of oxen." 

" My father never went to school ; but he learned 
himself, and he could have been a judge if he'd been 
a lawyer. But he became a minister because God 
wanted him to ; and I think it's bad enough for him to 
have such a boy as me without being insulted for it." 

The boys gave three cheers for Jack the Prodigal. 
A little shaver piped out : " A tiger for the Prodigal's 
pap," and such a groan and growl were given that 



Jack the Prodigal. 



Ill 



you would have thought it was a whole menagerie let 
loose. 

It required all of Jack's grit and courage to face the 
ridicule that the whole village poured upon him. The 
nickname became his common name, and he was 
oftener called " The Prodigal " than he was plain Jack. 
A short time after his return he made his first speech 
in meeting. The village class-leader was a pompous 
old fellow. He had been a class-leader for many 
years. He had acquired the habit of using " the holy 
tone " whenever he talked religion. He had a shrill, 
quavering sort of a voice, and when he lifted it, after 
the fashion of an old-time preacher he had heard in 
his youth, and then let it fall with wave-like regu- 
larity, always ending in a peculiar and indescribable 
grunt — " ah' 1 — it was a great treat to the boys. When 
he " warmed up " and poured forth his exhortations 
and appeals and exegesis in a wonderful medley, the 
whole neighborhood was interested. Many young 
people regularly attended Methodist meeting solely in 
hopes to hear the good brother's sing-song address and 
prayer. The good leader saw in Jack's adventure a 
chance to point a moral for the benefit of the young 
people, to whom he had grown accustomed in re- 
cent years to address all his exhortations. By some 
good fortune the leadership of the church prayer- 



112 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

meeting was given to him, and he announced after 
the sermon by the pastor that the subject would be 
"The Prodigal," and he hoped the younger portion 
of the community would be out. The largest attend- 
ance for many weeks was present. Tom and Jack, 
unconscious of the subject, were in their places, and 
by some accident sat in a part of the church separate 
from all the rest and in plain view of all. When the 
leader began to read with his sing-song sniffle the 
story of "The Prodigal Son," Jack turned red and 
white, and then, with clenched fist and tightly closed 
lips, sat bolt upright and looked at the leader and 
listened. The prayer began : " O thou unmerciful 
God, have mercy on our dear pasture, thy unworthy 
servant ; bless his weak and feeble instrumentality. 
Thou who canst take a worm and thrash a mountain, 
make him a power in this community, as thou hast 
not yet ; he is wading through deep waters. Thou 
hast humbled him by giving him wicked and rebell- 
ious children ; help him set a better example before 
his own household, that they may no longer be a 
reproach to thy cause in this place." And so on the 
prayer ran for nearly half an hour. Tom knelt down 
clear out of sight, but Jack violated all sense of pro- 
priety by sitting bolt upright and looking squarely 
into the face of the praying leader, with anger and 



Jack the Prodigal. 



113 



grief in turn struggling for the mastery in his little 
heart. The fierce struggle was written upon his 
chubby face by flushes and frowns and trembling 
lips and eyes now on fire and now wet with tears. 
As soon as the prayer was ended the leader began to 
amplify and emphasize the story he had read for a les- 
son. He wound up his exegesis by returning to the 
parsonage for a horrible illustration. 

He said : " It is well known that this story — ah — 
has found an illustration in the home of our minister 
within a few weeks — ah. Ministers' families, as a 
rule — ah — are far from being models for the families 
of the parish — ah. Ministers' children have always 
been known to be the worst in town — ah — but our 
present pasture has been unusually afflicted — ah. 
His youngest son, and I am glad to see him here to- 
night — ah — and I hope he will pay strict attention 
to my few and feeble remarks — ah — our minister's 
son, like the prodigal of the story — ah — has been gone 
into a far country — ah — and wasted his subsistence in 
righteous living — ah — and has now returned to point 
a moral and adorn a tale — ah." 

For twenty minutes poor Jack sat and listened to 
the exhortations which portrayed the similarity be- 
tween his little trip and the journey of the prodigal. 

At the close the leader and the congregation were 
8 



114 The Pharisee and the Prodigal.. 

electrified by seeing Jack rise and say he wanted to 
say a few words. 

His indignation had so completely swallowed up 
his timidity that he spoke without a tremor and in 
a clear boyish treble which made the little church 
ring. 

,; I*m much obliged to the leader for holding me 
up as a warning and example, but I think he could 
have found a better one a little nearer home. His 
own son Jack, for instance. He ain't no prodigal, 
but if he should ever run away no one would be sorry, 
unless he came back." 

This hit at the leader's scapegrace son. who was 
the terror and pest of the community, took away the 
old man's breath. 

" If my father was here you all know he wouldn't, 
low no such nonsense as this. Ministers' families are 
about as good as the average, and if the boys don't 
turn out as well as they might, it's because every 
body's pickin' and peepin' and lecturin' and scoldin'. 
If I was ever so sorry for what I know was wrong 
this kind of a nieetin 'd only make me mad and 
swear a good deal quicker 'n pray. I think it's bad 
enough for my father to work as he does here for 
hardly enough to live on. without bavin' his family 
ridiculed and slandered and bein' called a worm and 



Jack the Prodigal. 



115 



a weak and feeble instrument. You all know my fa- 
ther ain't no weak instrument. He is the strongest 
man in town. He could, if he was a mind to, take 
any two men in town and thump their heads together. 
He never went to school, but he learned himself and 
knows more 'n all the town put together. He's the 
best father in the world. When I just broke his 
heart, he loved me and forgave me, and never 's 
throwed it up to me once. And I am goin' to try 
and be a better boy, and I hope you'll all do the 
same. But I ain't comin' here to be preached at by 
any body 't '1 call my father and God names. If you 
want a text for your next sermon," turning to the 
leader, " you might tell the people that a man 't has 
a prodigal of his own 'd better let other people's 
prodigals alone." 

Not once did Jack waver, save when he spoke of 
his father's love ; but he soon regained his nerve and 
finished his speech, and while the audience sat dazed 
with surprise and merriment combined, he walked 
out, and the meeting broke up without another word. 
None the less did Jack hear himself called every- 
where and by every body, " Jack the Prodigal." 



116 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



CHAPTER II. 

TOM THE PHARISEE. 

" rpOM'S a saint, I know. He always was. He 
JL was born so. They say Christians are born 
again ; I will have to be born several times before I 
can hold a candle to my respected and perfect broth- 
er. I have heard his praise sung ever since I heard 
any thing. It is getting to be a little monotonous. 
Tom's good, and knows it. I'm bad, and every body 
knows it. O, dear ! I wonder if I will ever be any 
thing but the prodigal, always in trouble and always 
being lectured about not being good.'" 

" Come, Jack, get up out of bed. You sha'n't be 
allowed to mope any longer like this. You're in a 
bad scrape, I know, but then you're always in some 
kind of a scrape. This is a little the worst you have 
ever been caught in. but you'll live through it.'' 

" There you go again, you blessed old Pharisee. I 
was just talking to myself about you before you came 
in. It is no credit to you to be good. You were 
born perfect. All the weaknesses you ought to have 
had were given to me, and all the virtues I was en- 
titled to by some mistake were passed over to you. 
I wish I hadn't been born twins, and the youngest at 



Tom the Pharisee. 



117 



that. Then I might have stood some show in this 
world. If ever I go to State's prison or am hung it 
will all be because I was your twin brother. It is 
the same old game over. I'm Esau and you're Ja- 
cob ; and you have always had the advantage of me. 
You started a few minutes ahead, and I never can 
catch up. I suppose if I had had the start, as Esau 
had, you would still have beaten me. How does it 
seem to have every body singing your praise ? Don't 
you feel like praying to yourself sometimes, or have 
you got beyond prayer ? " 

" You're getting daft as well as wicked, Jack. You 
can be as good as any body when you try. This 
wretched college scrape, that has made us all such 
trouble and has cost father so much money, as poorly 
as he can spare it, was nothing but stupid folly on 
your part. What business have you, who might be 
the best student in the college, as every body knows 
you are the smartest, to go knocking around with 
those lazy, shiftless, vulgar loafers 1 They sneer at 
you when your back is turned, and banter each other 
to see which can get the minister's son into the most 
trouble. If I had my choice, whether I'd be a Phar- 
isee or a prodigal, I'd be a Pharisee every time. I 
think a good deal of the old Pharisee. He had re- 
ligion and wasn't ashamed of it. Like a man, he 



118 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



acknowledged his obligation to God and did not sneak 
out of it. He paid tithes and gave to the poor and 
prayed, and did not care who knew it. It is true he 
bragged about it, but when it comes to bragging the 
prodigal can give the Pharisee odds every time, and 
then beat him. When a sinner turns from his sins 
he seems to take delight in dragging into every body's 
sight the miserable, shameful record he has made. 
He boasts of how mean and cruel and foolish and 
dirty he was, until it is a wonder he does not make 
every one despise him. I'd be ashamed to say much 
about my sins. If a man is going to boast it is more 
to his credit that he boasts of being virtuous and hon- 
est and clean than that he has been dishonest, drunk- 
en, and filthy. I hope when they cut an epitaph on 
my tombstone they will put at the top the name you 
gave me in a joke when we were boys — 6 Tom the 
Pharisee.' " 

"I'm afraid if I don't quit the prodigal business 
before I die you']l have to bury me at night and with- 
out any tombstone at all," said Jack, sorrowfully. " I 
wish I knew how to become better." 

" Cheer up, you dear old prodigal ; we will both 
turn over a new leaf. I am afraid I am as much to 
blame for your college scrapes as you. I did not look 
after you and get you with the right kind of a crowd 



Tom the Pharisee. 



119 



when we first went to college, as I ought to have 
done. But when we go back 1 will take you under 
my wing ; you know I'm a few minutes the older. 
If you will be my mentor and keep me from playing 
the prig and tone down a little of my Pharisaism, it 
will be a fair exchange." 

"All right, Tom ; it makes me feel better right off 
to hear you acknowledge that there is a possibility of 
improving you, and I am to be honored with having 
a part in the work of reform. I am afraid it will be 
a hard battle to get me away from the swine and 
husks, but I'll try if you will help." 

" You must help me now," said Tom ; " I'm in a 
scrape myself. You know I have never had very 
much reverence for what I thought was humbuggery 
or hypocrisy. I have been reading very much of 
late of the investigations of the higher critics concern- 
ing the authorship of the Bible, and have had my 
faith a little shaken. I have been a little irreverent, 
I fear, in my references to the Bible, especially when 
I have had a chance to torment some good people 
whom I thought were ninnies. I have had just such 
an adventure. You know old Brother Prosy ? He 
was an itinerant on trial, but he could not pass the 
examinations and they dropped him about fifty years 
ago, more or less. He became a local preacher, and 



120 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



is one of the kind that I like to fool with. He and I 
had a discussion about the Bible to-day, and he was 
so horrified that the first chance he has in church he 
will make as horrible an example of me as the old 
class-leader did of you. I have not the courage to 
lay him out as you did the old leader. I will stay away 
from prayer-meeting all during the vacation until I 
know that he has freed his mind." 

c< Come and tell me about it," said Jack. " It will 
help me forget my troubles that are about breaking 
my heart as well as splitting my head.'' 

" Old Brother Prosy called to see father, and as 
father was not at home I was called upon to enter- 
tain him. As I came into the parlor I had a book in 
my hand. Brother Prosy, noticing the book, said : 

" 4 1 see you keep up your studies during your 
vacation ? ' 

" ; Hardly,' I said ; ' I was just reading a little.' 
" ' What is it I Some new-fangled idee, I'll vent- 
ure.' 

" 4 Yes ; it is a book on higher criticism.' 
" ' What is higher criticism ? ' 

" ' It is an examination of the claims of the Bible 
to be an inspired book. The author takes the ground 
that the books of Moses were written by some one 
else, and — ' 



Tom the Pharisee. 



121 



" ' Rank infidelity ! He must be an infidel ! ' said 
Brother Prosy, sharply interrupting me. 

" ' No,' I said ; ' he is a good Methodist.' 

" I saw I was in for it now. The look of horror 
on the old man's face was comical, and I had to 
smile. 

" ' I see by the way you are laughing that you are 
one of them " higher critics " yourself.' 

"Surprised, and thinking I would have a little 
sport with the old man, I said : 

" ' I lean a little that way sometimes.' 

" 'Ah ! I told your father a college edication would 
be the ruin of you. Here you are only half through, 
and have thrown the Bible away already.' 

" Hoping to get him started on a new tack, I 
said : 

" ' But you know there are many things in the 
Bible about which the commentaries are not agreed.' 

" ' Commentaries, indeed ! What do I want with 
commentaries ? I 'low no man to chaw over the 
bread of life for me.' 

" ' But you know there are many passages which 
scholars interpret differently, and those of us who 
cannot read the Bible in the original tongue need a 
little help.' 

" ' Original tongue ! English is good enough for 



122 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



me. I want nobody to talk to me about Greek or 
Hebrew. They may be good enough for Jews or 
other heathen, but I prefer a civilized language.' 

u 4 Must we take the literal meaning of the Bible, 
then, as we have it ? ' 

" ' Certainly ; I believe the whole Bible is inspired, 
every word ; all or none, say L' 

" 6 But there are some places where the best scholars 
agree that the rendering is not the exact translation. 
In Genesis the word "day" really means "period;" 
the meaning is that God made the world in six peri- 
ods, and not in six days.' 

" ' It is rank blasphemy ! I suppose God knew 
what he was about when he said lie created the world 
in six days and rested on the seventh.' 

" ' But geology pretends to find evidence in the . 
rocks of ages of growth and decay.' 

" 6 1 want to know if God did make the world at 
all if it would not be just as easy to make it in six 
minutes as in six millions of ages. Perhaps these men 
that know so much might have taught him more than 
he knew. It is a pity the Almighty did not have 
them around.' 

" ' Joshua told the sun to stand still. How would 
that help him when day and night are produced by 
the moving of the earth, and not the sun ? ' 



Tom the Pharisee. 



123 



" ' It means just what it says, and it says just what 
it means. Geology, geography, astronomy, grammar, 
or algebra, it's all one to me. If the Bible said the 
moon was made of green cheese, I would believe it 
in spite of all the astronomers that ever lived or ever 
will live.' 

" £ What about the whale swallowing Jonah ? They 
say a whale cannot swallow a man. Its throat is so 
small that it is utterly impossible.' 

" £ Impossible ! Yes, impossible with man, may be ; 
but with God all things are possible. You need not 
try to shake my faith, my boy. I am so well grounded 
that if the Bible had said Jonah swallowed the whale, 
it wouldn't make me tremble a second. I'd believe 
it just as quick. One is just as easy to do as the other, 
perhaps ; it makes no difference.' 

" 1 May it not be that in copying the Bible they made 
some mistakes? ' 

" ' No ! If God inspired men to write the book, 
he could inspire men to copy it.' 

" ' But the translators might have made mistakes.' 

" 6 They were inspired.' 

" ' The printers often make mistakes.' 

" ' They will be inspired.' 

" ' Then you are not in favor of revising the Bible.' 
" ' No, sir ! It would be a terrible sacrilege. You 



124 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



know what is said about him that taketh from or addeth 
to the word of God ? ' 

" ' I was reading a book the other day which greatly 
interested me. The author was one of the most dis- 
tinguished men in the Church. He said that man was 
naturally mortal ; he does not die because of sin ; 
death is a part of God's economy just as much as 
life.' 

" ' All the fools are not dead yet,' said the old man. 

" ' But let us look at it and see,' said I. £ Suppose 
nobody had ever died ! ' 

" ' I know what you are coming at ! There would 
have been plenty of room.' 

" ' Let us figure it out and see ! Suppose every 
married pair had had four children and none had 
died ? ' 

" ' Four is too small a family ; give them each as 
many as Jacob had.' 

" ' We will try four first and see how it comes out.* 

" ' Well, go ahead,' said the old man ; 'I know what 
you are after ; but I tell you before you begin, I'm too 
well grounded to be upset by any new theology.' 

" £ There have been about two hundred generations 
since Adam. If each married couple had had four 
children, and none had died, there would have been 
three octillions of decillions of people.' 



Tom the Pharisee. 



125 



" ' Yes ; I suppose there would have been as many 
as that,' said Brother Prosy, with a wise look and nod 
of the head. 

" ' We will divide the earth's surface up into square 
feet, and give every person one square foot.' 

" 1 That is not enough ; give them an acre at least, 
there is plenty of land.' 

" ' We will start with a square foot and see how the 
land will hold out. If we divide the number of people 
by the number of square feet, we will find that there 
are five hundred billions of decillions of persons to 
each square foot.' 

" Old Brother Prosy gasped, and began to rub his 
head and stare at me as if he were losing his reason. 
I went on : 

" £ In order to give each one his foot of space, we 
will stand the people on each other's shoulders and 
call their average height four feet.' 

" £ Yes,' murmured Brother Prosy. 

" 4 We would have every foot of the earth's surface 
covered by a column of people four hundred millions 
of decillions of miles high. How near the sun do 
you suppose the top man would be ? ' I asked, in order 
to give him a moment to breathe. 

" ' I hardly know,' he said, a little bewildered. ' I 
suppose near enough to be uncomfortably warm.' 



126 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

" ' The topmost man would be four decillion times 
as far away as the sun. As it takes eight minutes for 
a ray of light to come from the sun to the earth, if 
we had an express train to travel as fast as light does 
it would take the lowest man fifty octillions of years 
to get to the topmost man.' 

" Utterly bewildered, the old man said, under his 
breath, ' If Eve had not eaten the apple we would 
have been in a terrible fix. At least those at the bot- 
tom would.' After meditating for a moment, he said, 
< What do you call this ? ' 

" I said : ' The author does not give it any name, but 
I suppose we might call it " mathematical theology." ' 

" ' More like diabolical theology. I want you to 
know I'm too deeply grounded in my religion to be 
upset by any new theology, whether it's mathematical 
or diabolical. If I was your father I'd set you to 
learning a trade instead of filling your head with that 
sort of nonsense. And this is what you call higher 
criticism. I have wondered why your father seemed 
to have so much anxiety. It is bad enough to have a 
prodigal scapegrace to scandalize and bankrupt him 
with his college scrapes, but that's a mercy to having 
a son of prayer become a son of perdition, as I believe 
all infidels are, whether they are critics of the high 
church or the low church. All are of the devil, and 



The Higher Critic and the Hypercritic. 127 



will have their part in the lake of fire and brimstone.' 
And he stormed out." 

" Good for Brother Prosy," said Jack. " He served 
you right. You are trying to excuse your sins by pick- 
ing flaws in the Bible, and I excuse mine by picking 
flaws in Christians. "We are both in mighty mean 
business. You are a higher critic and I am a hyper- 
critic. I am afraid both words could be spelled the same 
way and truly applied to us both — H-y-p-o-c-r-i-t-i-c." 



CHAPTER III. 
the higher critic and the hypercritic. 

TOM and Jack both graduated, and each had begun 
what promised to be a remarkable career. Tom 
was a professor in a leading college, and his brilliant 
pen was never busy enough to supply the demand 
from the best periodicals of the land. He had never 
cast aside the nominal faith of his father, and was still 
a Methodist in name. But he had imbibed all the 
daring notions of the so-called higher critics concern- 
ing the Bible while claiming still to be an orthodox 
believer. He was the center of life of a large club of 
brilliant men, and had inspired a multitude of young 
men to accept his leadership in biblical criticism, and 



128 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



in every single instance their criticism had been de- 
structive of all faith in the supernatural of the Bible 
or belief in its inspiration. 

Jack studied medicine and discovered his mission 
the hour he entered the medical college. He became 
at the very start a wonderfully skillful surgeon. The 
faculty said : " He is born to be a surgeon, and would 
outstrip us all were he as steady as lie is skillful." He 
was still the same prodigal, warm-hearted, impulsive, 
social, but his own worst enemy. He was not addicted 
to the use of strong drink. He valued his standing 
too highly to risk the loss of his firm hand and steady 
nerve, which he knew drink was sure to destroy. He 
was wild, reckless, and in a fair way to become wicked. 
After completing his medical education he became a 
member of the faculty > and soon secured a position 
upon the staff of one of the leading hospitals. 

He was sitting in his room one night after a singu- 
larly novel and successful surgical operation which 
was destined to make him famous. The reaction from 
the highly wrought tension of nerve occasioned by 
the serious character of the operation just completed 
brought upon him one of the despondent, gloomy con- 
ditions of mind in which he had several times taken to 
drink. He was about to ring a bell and order a bottle 
of brandy when a letter was brought by a special deliv- 



The Higher Critic and the Hypkrcritic. 129 

ery messenger. As lie-broke the seal the clock struck 
twelve. The letter was from Tom. It was very brief : 

" Dear Old Prodigal : As I was looking over some 
of father's papers I found the inclosed letter addressed 
to you and sealed. I was greatly startled. I had 
looked these papers over scores of times before, and 
could not understand how it could have escaped my 
attention. It must have slipped inside another letter. 
It seemed so much a special message from our dear fa- 
ther who has been dead so many years that I send it 
by special delivery. Yours lovingly, Tom." 

Jack held the letter in his hand several minutes 
before he opened it. All the past rushed before him 
in panoramic form. His father's patient, heroic self- 
sacrifice for his family and his Church, which had 
never been understood by the boy, now became so 
real to the man that he bowed his head and sobbed. 
His own life from boyhood to young manhood stood 
before him as if he were watching the life-story of 
another acted out before him. His father's tender 
devotion and loving forgiveness and his own thought- 
lessness and recklessness made the strong man shed 
many bitter tears. After he had grown calm he opened 

the letter. The familiar hand-writing startled him. 

9 



130 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

It was impossible that the hand that penned this let- 
ter looking so fresh and clear had been hidden under 
the sod for so many years. The letter was not long. 
One reading fastened it in his memory so that he 
would remember every word and line : 

" Dear Jack : To-day the physician told me I 
must die. I knew it before, and was not surprised at 
all. I shall never see you again in this world. Before 
you can reach me I will be dead. My first thought 
was you, my prodigal boy. I think I love you better 
than Tom because you have made me more trouble 
than he. I write this as my last earthly word to you. 
I charge you as a dying man not to cheat me out of 
your presence in heaven. I do not know what heaven 
will be, but it cannot be the same to me without you. 
My family must be unbroken, or heaven will not be 
heaven to me. You have been a wild and reckless 
but good-hearted boy ; you are now a wild and reck- 
less man — must I say it ? — I fear you are a wicked 
young man. If you die in your sins you will go to 
hell. Jack, my boy, if it were in my power to go to 
hell in your stead, how gladly would I do it ! I can- 
not. I pray now that God will make these words 
of your dying father the words of God to you. Prom- 
ise me you will meet me in heaven. O God ! I have 



The Higher Critic and the Hypercritic. 131 



tried all these years to save this boy that thou hast 
given me ; for thy Son's sake, save my son." 

The letter stopped abruptly, and the firm hand- 
writing became an almost illegible scrawl before it. 
ended. Jack read it through with a glance that 
seemed to devour it in an instant. Utterly over- 
whelmed, he dropped the letter and fell upon his 
knees in an anguish of soul that could not be voiced. 
He thought he heard that voice he remembered so 
well repeating over and over, " O God ! for thy Son's 
sake, save my son." It was repeated, sounding 
fainter and fainter, like a dying echo. Filled with 
terror lest the prayer should cease and be lost, h© 
cried, " O God ! for my father's sake, save me ! " He 
had scarcely uttered the sentence before the room 
was filled with heavenly light and a voice said to him r 
u Thy sins are forgiven thee ; go and sin no more." 
He sang and shouted nearly all night. Those who 
were near enough to hear the noise, but unable to dis- 
tinguish its character, said, as they turned over in 
their beds : " It's that mad-cap doctor having another 
spree. Too bad ! Too bad ! " 

The first mail brought a letter from the chief 
surgeon in the hospital with which Jack was con- 
nected. It was very brief. 



132 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



"My Dear Doctor: I have just received an ap- 
plication from a hospital in Japan for a surgeon-in- 
chief. You fill the bill exactly with one exception — 
they must have a Christian. The salary will be less 
than half what we pay you, but it is an opportunity 
for a Christian that comes but once in a life-time. 
My first thought was that you were the man God 
wants for Japan. Your father and I were old friends. 
Were he living he would say the call of Japan is the 
voice of God. As surgeon-in-chief in this hospital 
seeking you you can do more good than twenty mis- 
sionaries. The surgeon must go in the first steamer. 
Come and see me immediately." 

Before accepting the invitation of his chief he 
telegraphed Tom : 

" Miracles have not ceased. Father's letter was 
the voice of God. Jesus has saved me from my 
sins, blessed be his name ! Come at once and bid me 
good-bye. I am going to Japan as a medical mission- 
ary in the first steamer. Jack." 

Tom, thinking Jack was crazy, took the first train. 
He found him in his right mind and as happy as he 
could be. 

" What does this mean, Jack ? Are you really going 



The Higher Critic and the Hypercritic. 133 

to give up jour brilliant position here to become a 
missionary in Japan ? " 

" Yes, old fellow ; I have heard God speak. I dare 
not disobey. I never knew what enjoyment was be- 
fore. I would walk into an open grave with a shout, 
if he w r anted me to. I now understand how our 
father endured the privations of the itinerancy. I 
used to get vexed and cross and almost impudent try- 
ing to urge him to quit preaching and turn to some 
profession that would give him a comfortable living. 
He would simply smile, and say, ' My dear Jack, when 
God speaks to you it will be easy to obey. I would 
not exchange my work of preaching Christ to become 
a king.' I thought then he was crazy, just as you 
think I am crazy now. I should not be a bit sur- 
prised if God would speak to you some day, and you 
would take the first steamer to Japan, to help me in 
my work or take it up when I lay it down ; who 
knows % Tom, never forget that father did not think 
he needed to write you. He counted you already 
saved. I fear if you ever were a Christian, when you 
lost faith in the inspiration of the Bible, every thing 
else went with it. I am bound to meet father and 
mother. What an awful thing it would be if when 
I got there father should say, ' Where's Tom ? ' 
Don't cheat him out of the joy he counted so sure." 



134 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

Tom promised that he would meet Jack and his 
father and mother in heaven. As the vessel sailed 
out, Tom waved his handkerchief, and said, " Good- 
bye, dear Jack ! " Jack replied, " Good-bye, dear 
Tom, remember ! " 



CHAPTER IV. 

LETTER FROM NEW YORK. 

THE rest of our story is obtained from several let- 
ters written from New York to Japan and re- 
plies to the same. The correspondents were twin 
brothers, the sons of a wealthy and cultured nobleman. 
One of the brothers was making an extended journey 
through the w r orld, studying the civilizations and re- 
ligions of the various countries. He had been in 
America several mouths, and was residing in New 
York at the time the following letter was written : 

" My Dear Brother : As you know, I have been 
studying the many religions of this strange country. 
I try to attend all of the great religious gatherings. I 
attended the meetings of the American Board of For- 
eign Missions to-day. At first I was very sorry, but 
at last was greatly delighted. I listened with painful 



Letter from New York. 



135 



interest to a paper on Japan. It was prepared by the 
missionaries of the Christian religions now trying to 
delude our people. The paper spoke of their success 
in leading our people from their ancestral faith, and 
urged that more missionaries be sent with money to 
buy converts. 

"If our people could only visit America and see 
what I see every day, we would not need to worry 
much over their becoming converts to Christianity. 
If they could see the drunkenness and shameless vice, 
the desecration of the Christian's holy day, and the 
disregard for the Christian's holy book, they would 
be in no great hurry to become Christians. Very few 
of the Christian temples are more than half full, while 
the saloons, which I understand are the temples of 
the enemies of the Christian religion, are always 
crowded. I supposed, from hearing the Christian 
missionaries in our country, that all educated and holy 
people were devotees of the Christian religion. But 
I h'nd that a very large number of the best and wisest 
people treat all religions with the greatest disrespect 
and contempt. Indeed, many of them do not seem 
to do any thing else but try to overthrow the Chris- 
tian religion. As I came out of the great church in 
which the missionary meeting was held a paper was 
handed me which was called the Christian Union. I 



136 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



have read it carefully and have found in it what I 
long have sought. The Christians have a little book 
containing questions and answers about their religion 
which they use in instructing their children. They 
call this little book a catechism. I found in the Chris- 
tian Union some questions and answers about a new 
religion which seemed to me like a catechism. I asked 
a wise literary man what kind of a catechism it was. 

" He said : ' It must be the catechism of the Higher 
Criticism.' 

" His words were very strange. I had never heard 
before that there was a religion called the Higher 
Criticism. I determined to investigate it, and if pos- 
sible obtain a copy of the catechism. It is just what 
we need to have translated into our language to pre- 
vent our people from becoming seduced into the ac- 
ceptance of the Christian religion. I did not investi- 
gate very far before I was filled with joy. The 
teachings of the new religion are as full of super- 
stitions and foolish doctrines as the old, but they com- 
pletely overthrow the old. As we desire to defeat 
the missionaries, this new religion appears to be the 
very instrument we need. I know nothing about the 
new religion but what its devotees have told me. It 
is, as near as I can learn, an improvement upon the old 
faiths. The higher critic is an honest Christian. He 



Letter from New York. 



137 



confesses what all other intelligent Christians know 
and believe but dare not acknowledge. He discards 
very much, if not all, of the supernatural portions of 
the holy book. He spends his time seeking out new 
flaws and discrediting more wonders. When he has 
accomplished his desires, all the miraculous portions 
of the holy book will be proved to be fabulous, and 
must be rejected by all honest and intelligent minds. 

" As this is a very strange matter, and hard for us 
to understand, I can make it plain to you by quoting 
a few questions and answers which are published in 
the Christian Union, October 17, 1889. This will 
give you an idea what kind of a book this new cate- 
chism is, and how important it is that we shall at once 
procure it for our people. These questions seem to 
be from persons who are studying the new religion and 
desire more light. The answers are from the teach- 
ers or priests of the new faith : 

" £ Question. — I have much use for the story of 
Eden as an allegory, but if I must regard it as actual 
history or be cast out as an unbeliever, I shall take 
to the woods. What say you ? 

" 6 Answer. — We do not think that you will be dis- 
turbed. Even conservative scholars now hold the 
view that the early part of Genesis contains some 
" spiritualized legends." ' 



138 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



" This question and answer cost me a great deal of 
study. I could not understand why the questioner 
should £ take to the woods,' and what good it would 
do him if he did. But at last I learned that here 
was a truth absolutely invaluable to us. You will re- 
member that the missionary begins his work by tell- 
ing our people that they are sinners — that in Eden 
our forefather was tempted by an evil spirit in the 
form of a serpent and led to disobey the Christian's 
God. Because men became sinners God was incar- 
nated in Jesus and died to save them. You can easily 
see that if the story of Eden is a legend, to publish 
that fact will spoil lots of sermons for the mission- 
aries. Besides, Jesus speaks of this legend, as a his- 
toric fact. This makes him either ignorant or un- 
truthful. In either case he is unfit to save us ; he 
would better save himself. There can be no mistake 
about this story being a legend, for ' conservative 
scholars ' — those who oppose the Higher Criticism — 
now acknowledge that 6 it is but an allegory.' 

<£ £ Q. — As the world was not created in six days, 
how could the Sabbath have been instituted by God 
on the ground that he had rested on the seventh day, 
as stated in the fourth commandment ? Do you be- 
lieve that the commandments and all the laws in the 
Pentateuch were given by God, or written by Moses ? 



Letter from New York. 



139 



" £ A. — Many of them proceeded from Moses's suc- 
cessors building on to his work, and so were only in- 
volved in, or developed from, what the " Lord said to 
Moses." What God said to Moses lie probably com- 
municated, as now to us, inwardly, by enlightening 
the mind and conscience to see the truth and feel its 
imperativeness. The Sabbath is of divine appoint- 
ment — " made for man," as Jesus says — required by the 
physical and moral nature which God made. That 
Moses should see this law written in our nature and 
assign a fanciful reason for it only shows that he was 
like the rest of us in being better able to see what is 
right than to give a reason for it.' 

" I could hardly believe this when I read it. I 
had believed the missionaries to be honest but mis- 
guided men. 1 admired their heroism in leaving 
their native land to teach us what they called a 
better religion. I fear I must now believe them 
to be wicked deceivers. Let me just put into a few 
words the things they have taught us which are un- 
true : 

" ' Moses taught the people the law of God and ga ve 
them his commandments written upon tables of stone.' 
This is a legend. Many commandments have been 
added to those which Moses gave ; indeed, Christians 
are not sure that Moses wrote any part of the holy 



140 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

book, or gave any part of the law ; it may be that 
Moses himself is a myth. 

" ' Moses talked with God face to face,' the mis- 
sionaries said ; but the fact is, God talked to Moses 
just as he talks to every body, by enlightening the 
mind and conscience. 

" ' The Sabbath is God's day ; God worked six 
days, and rested the seventh, and hallowed it.' This 
is another legend — ought I not to say a lie? Moses 
saw the benefit of resting one day in seven, and gave 
as a ' fanciful reason ' for its observance that God or- 
dained it. 

" There are other questions and answers just as 
important to us as those I have already given. 

" 1 Q. — Kindly answer for me a few questions on 1 
Sam. xv, 2, 3. Did God give the command there 
recorded ? If he did, did he not command to do a 
cruel and wicked deed from revengeful motives ? If 
he did not, and Samuel and the author of the Book 
of Samuel supposed that he did, is not their mistake 
about the character and dealings of God so serious as 
to render them untrustworthy teachers of religious 
truth ? ' 

" I read that question over twice before I read the 
answer. It sounded very much like a little book 
called The Mistakes of Moses, written by a lawyer 



Letter from New York. 



141 



who is a very funny fellow. He charges Christians 
fifty cents to let them hear him make fun of their 
holy book. Instead of treating this question with 
indignation and rebuking the questioner, the teacher 
answers it as if it were a perfectly proper and re- 
spectful question. 

" ' A. — The passage evidently enjoins retaliation for 
hostilities four hundred years past. The war (on 
banditti) was probably justifiable. The motive ap- 
pealed to (revenge) was not. The phrase " Thus 
saith the Lord " does not necessarily denote a direct 
divine command. Compare 2 Sam. xvi, 10. It often 
means no more than " It is right," or " It ought to 
be." In any case, it shows, as here used, a defective 
moral judgment, and that Samuel's teachings, like 
those of all the other saints, must be brought before 
the judgment-seat of Christ for revision and correc- 
tion. It is only fair to notice other occasions on 
which Samuel taught moral truths that are quite up 
to the principle of Christ. 

" ' Q. — How would the Higher Criticism dispose of 
the shadow going back ten degrees in the sun-dial of 
Ahaz ? (2 Kings xx.) 

" 'A. — A similar phenomenon was observed in 
1703 by the prior of Metz. By a peculiar refraction 
of solar light the shadow of the sun-dial went back an 



142 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



hour and a half. It has been suggested that the 
sign may have been due to the shadow-movement in 
a solar eclipse which was visible at Jerusalem Jan- 
uary 11, B. C. 6S9. This, under certain conditions, 
would recede with regular motion for twenty minutes 
time.' 

" As you will see by reading the holy book, Ahaz 
wanted a sign that he would recover from his illness. 
Isaiah, one of the holy men, gave him his choice, ' to 
have the shadow go forward or backward on the sun- 
dial.' Ahaz said, ' It would be a little thing for the 
shadow to go forward ; let it go backward ten de- 
grees.' Isaiah prayed to his God, and he brought the 
shadow ten degrees backward. Our people are too 
shrewd to be caught by such a trick as that. If this 
going backward of the shadow was simply owing to 
a natural cause, Isaiah must have known it. Then he 
too is an impostor. If he knew that an eclipse was 
going to make the shadow go backward, for him to 
pretend to pray to his God to make it go back, and 
then declare that the turning back was an answer 
to his prayer, proves that he was not only a wicked 
deceiver of his king, but that he was guilty of sacrilege 
by making his God an accomplice in his trick. I do 
not know when I was happier than when I read these 
questions and answers. I saw immediately of what 



Letter from New York. 



143 



vast importance they would be to us in our work of 
stemming the tide toward the Christian's religion in 
our beloved Japan. 

" There is one story in the holy book that the mis- 
sionaries never tire talking about. The first time I 
heard it I was deeply moved. The missionary was a 
very eloquent man. He described the scene in a 
powerfully dramatic manner. I almost imagined I 
heard the great general command the sun and moon 
to stand still. When the missionary assured us that 
God heard the prayer of his servant and made the 
sun and moon obey him, and this incident was re- 
corded to show us that God was always willing to do 
wonderful things when his servants called upon him, 
I wished for a moment that I had such a God as that. 
What must I think of the honesty or intelligence of 
that missionary ? His wonderful story is the make- 
believe of some romancer. When I read this ques- 
tion and answer I sprang to my feet and shouted 
aloud : ' The missionary was a liar, and I will hunt the 
world over till I find him and tell him so.' 

" ' Q. — I understand the Higher Criticism to dispose 
of the matter of Joshua's commanding the sun to 
stand still by resolving it into a poetic fiction ? 

" ' A. — Substantially. It is, on the face of it, quoted 
from a poetical book. Orthodox interpreters now 



144 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



recognize this. The fact that Joshua addresses the 
moon also, though before sunset it could give no light, 
leads to the same conclusion.' 

" You will not at first see the full significance of 
this truth which we have just learned. Two of the 
holy men called prophets, Isaiah and Habakkuk, who 
helped write the holy book, refer to this incident as 
actually occurring. If they were prophets, and by a 
strange endowment of wisdom from the gods could 
foretell coming events, how could they be kept in 
ignorance of events that had already transpired ? If 
they were not ignorant — and it does not seem possible 
that their God would permit them to mix fables with 
their sublime predictions — then they perpetrated a 
fraud by recording as history what they knew was 
; poetic fiction.' As you will remember that Isaiah 
was the same holy man who played the sun-dial trick 
on King Ahaz, it is not at all surprising that he should 
prove to be a deceiver in another sun-story. You 
will see the full force of this when you remember 
that it is Isaiah who prophesies about Christ, and de- 
scribes him and his work and character so graphically 
that some really allege that his prophecy was written 
after Christ had come. It does seem as if our gods 
put it into my heart to go to this great Christian 
meeting. I have been shown this simple but certain 



Letter from New York. 145 



method of saving our people from the wiles of the 
Christian missionaries. Does not your heart respond 
to mine ? Just think of the discomfiture of the mis- 
sionaries when we put into their hands this catechism 
and ask them to expound it in their public meetings. 
Let me put together the untruths which these men 
have taught our people as the word of God. 

" The story of Eden, the fall of man, the tempta- 
tion by the serpent, is a ' spiritualized legend.' The law 
was not given in God's hand-writing on stone tablets. 
The law was not given to Moses at all. The Sabbath 
was not instituted by divine command. The Penta- 
teuch is not the work of Moses written under divine 
inspiration, it is a compilation of legends and poetry 
and fabulous history. Isaiah and Habakkuk per- 
petrate a fraud by recording as history a piece of 
poetic fiction ; Samuel was morally defective ; Isaiah 
deceived Ahaz by the sun-dial trick and insulted his 
God by pretending the trick was an answer to prayer ; 
and, last and best of all, Jesus, who was continually 
appealing to these very legends, poetic fictions, and 
fabulous histories in support or illustration of his own 
teaching, is also proved to be a deceiver. He is either 
grossly ignorant or deliberately untruthful. However 
we may excuse him through charity, he is certainly so 

unreliable that we can accept nothing he says without 
10 



146 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

corroborative evidence. This Higher Criticism 
catechism we must have. It will rout and utterly 
overwhelm the wicked men who for some selfish pur- 
pose teach our people lies and deceive them by tricks 
in order to delude them into giving up their ancient 
faith. I will advertise in the Christian Union this 
week for the catechism. We will put a copy into 
the schools and homes of Japan, and our own holy 
religion will be safe." 



CHAPTER V. 

LETTER FROM JAPAN. 

"r\EAR BROTHER : Your letter was read with 
] J great joy. The copy of the Christian Union 
which you sent me I used immediately. I spoiled a 
sermon and broke up a Christian meeting, and sent 
the missionary home in tears. It was a great victory. 
You have been inspired by our gods to discover the 
very thing we need to overthrow this new religion 
and save our people from becoming deluded by it. 
"When the catechism comes and we can get it printed 
in our own language we will be safe from this snare. 
But I know you are anxious to hear how I defeated 
the missionary. I attended the Christian meeting. 



Letter from Japan. 



147 



The attendance was very large. The missionary is an 
eloquent speaker and a wonderfully brilliant man. 
He is as holy as he is wise. I was very sorry to take 
such an advantage of him. He is perfectly honest 
and sincere, and could be one of the most successful 
of men in his own land. For him to come to our 
land to lead us out of the darkness of heathenism is 
the work of a hero ; it would not be irreverent to say 
it is the work of a god. But he is deluded, and be- 
cause he is so good and brave and kind he is all the 
more dangerous. His sermon, as the Christians call 
their ministers' addresses, was an explanation of the 
words from their holy book, ' The law was given by 
Moses, but grace and truth came by Jesus Christ.' 

" The sermon was thrillingly eloquent, and the 
large company of our young men who were present 
were deeply moved. After the sermon the mission- 
ary did as he was accustomed to do. He said, 6 If 
any desire to ask any questions I will be pleased to 
answer them, if I am able.' 

" I had taken the precaution, by bribing the servant, 
to find out whether or not the missionary received 
this paper called the Christian Union. You can 
imagine my joy when I found that the very same 
copy you sent me was upon his table but had not yet 
been opened. T arose and said I desired to say a few 



148 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



words. ' Before 1 ask a few questions I want to tell 
von what my brother in ]N"ew York writes me. He 
says that America, from which this missionary came, 
while it is called a Christian land, is orwe of the most 
wicked countries upon the face of the earth. The 
great majority of the people are indifferent to the 
Christian religion. Very many people, and they are 
respectable, educated, and many of them wealthy, are 
enemies of this religion and do all they can to destroy 
it. The churches are only half filled, while the 
saloons, which I understand are the temples of the 
enemies of religion, are crowded. The saloons are 
more powerful than the churches and have more 
votaries. The holy day is not regarded by the Chris- 
tians themselves. The holy book from which the 
missionary preaches, and which he tells us is the word 
of God, is not believed to be divine by vast multi- 
tudes of educated and religious people. I now wish 
to ask the missionary whether or not there is a re- 
ligious paper published in his country called the Chris- 
tian Union, and what is its standing and character ; 
who is its editor, and is it ever sent to Japan ? ' He 
answered me so promptly I knew he had not seen the 
paper, and I was very sorry for him. He said : ; I 
see the paper called the Christian Union every week. 
It is a great paper, with a wide circulation. Its 



Letter from Japan. 



149 



writers are wise and good men. The editor is the 
pastor of one of the greatest Christian churches in 
America. He has long been an expounder of the holy 
book, and his words are quoted as those of one of the 
wisest and best Christian teachers.' 

" I continued : ' You have spoken many times in 
your sermons about Eden and the fall of man through 
the deception of a serpent possessed by an evil 
spirit ; this is all an allegory or fable. You have told 
us in this very eloquent sermon to which we have 
listened with so great interest that " the law was given 
by Moses, while grace and truth came by Jesus 
Christ." Of course, if one statement is not true, 
neither is the other. You told us about the wonder- 
ful manner in which the law was given to Moses by 
the gods ; all this is untrue. The book you call 
Moses's book was written many hundreds of years 
after Moses was dead ; it is an imposture. Y^ou have 
told us about a General Joshua making the sun stand 
still ; that is a fragment of an old poem and is a 
romance. You told us not long ago that a king 
named Ahaz was sick and a prophet called Isaiah 
gave him as a sign that he would get well that the 
shadow of the sun should go back upon the sun-dial. 
That was only a make-believe miracle ; it has occurred 
since, and there was nothing supernatural about it at 



150 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

all. Isaiah, the holy man who played this trick, is 
the one who so beautifully and truthfully described 
the coming of Jesus hundreds of years before Jesus 
was born. Perhaps Isaiah's prophecy was written 
like Moses's law, many hundred years after he was 
dead.' 

" I insisted that the missionary should send to his 
own house and get his copy of the Christian Union 
and read for us certain questions and answers. He 
did so, and you can never imagine the sorrowful tone 
with which he read. I then addressed the audience 
and said : ' You see this young man is either deceived 
or is a deceiver. If he knew these things he has 
tried to delude us. If he did not know them he is 
unfit to be a religious teacher ; he needs instruction 
himself.' The audience dispersed, laughing heartily 
over my victory. As I went out I heard the mis- 
sionary say to himself: 'That is the way it has 
always been ; the cause of Christ has suffered more 
from its friends than from its enemies.' He went 
home bitterly weeping. I am anxiously waiting for 
the new catechism. Send it at the earliest possible 
moment." 



Letter from New York. 



151 



CHAPTER VI. 

LETTER FROM NEW YORK. 

« EAR BROTHER : I found I was mistaken about 
) J the new catechism. I advertised every -where 
for a copy, but failed to find it. I have done better. 
I have had one written and send you the manuscript 
in this mail. It is compiled from the writings of the 
devotees of this new faith. To my great surprise, 
when I began to investigate I found two kinds of 
higher critics. One party, which is called ' the de- 
structive critics,' are practically infidels, as the Chris- 
tians call the rejectors of the religion of Jesus. The 
destructive critics do not believe in the supernatural. 
They say no evidence is sufficient to prove a miracle. 
All their investigations start out by assuming that 
every thing that claims to be supernatural is untrue. 
They treat the Christian's holy book as some bar- 
barous medicine-men among the Christians treat 
animals. They cut them to pieces while they are yet 
alive. They call it vivisecting. This party of the 
critics have neither pity nor regard for the holy book. 
They vivisect it. I was amazed when I began to 



152 ' The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

read their works. While professing to be Christians 
the} 7 treated the holy book with such irreverence and 
disrespect that I believed them haters of the Christian 
religion rather than its devotees. Assuming that 
every thing that is supernatural is fabulous, they do 
not try to disprove it. They say of each miracle, 
' That is a legend,' or £ It is poetry,' or 1 It is an alle- 
gory.' As I cannot hope to investigate for myself I 
quote from them, and, as you see, this catechism spoils 
nearly every wonderful story the missionary ever has 
told. I found another kind of higher critics, called 
' the orthodox.' They profess to have great reverence 
for the holy book. They assert that their purpose is 
to purify the sacred truth by separating from it legend 
and tradition and fable. They seemed to wish to be 
known as believers in the holy book while throwing 
discredit upon it. They reminded me of the medi- 
cine-man who loved his old mother, but wanted to 
vivisect her when he could not get a clog. I was 
greatly disappointed at finding two sects of higher 
critics. I had hoped that they would be all agreed. 
But after I had read many of the works of the 
4 orthodox critics ' I found that, as far as they went, 
they were just like the destructives. For the most 
part they were but feeble copies or imitations of the 
destructives. They were as dangerous to their own 



Letter from New York. 



153 



holy book as they dared be. Both sects used the 
same methods and accomplished the same results ; the 
destructives only went a little farther, that was all the 
difference. I was satisfied that in time the orthodox 
would all become destructives. I did not have much 
sympathy with the reverence of the £ orthodox critics ' 
for the holy book. What I wanted was to get some- 
thing to help me to destroy it. If they would only do 
that they might love it as much as they pleased. 
You will see that all answers are denials or assertions. 
I have been much impressed with this peculiarity of 
this new faith. Its devotees are all wise men, and 
know it. They think that they are authority upon all 
these matters. It is only necessary for them to assert 
or deny ; that settles all controversy. Their greatest 
argument is, ' We, ourselves, have said it.' 

" I have had one very strange experience. After I 
had accumulated the matter by long and patient re- 
search I asked one wise man to recommend me to a 
learned literary man who would put this material into 
proper form, so as to make all parts harmonize. I 
was introduced to a brilliant professor in one of the 
greatest Christian colleges. He was deeply interested 
when I told him that I had collected from very many 
of the higher critics their opinions concerning the in- 
spiration and authorship of the Christian's holy book, 



154 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



and the supernatural incidents it related. He com- 
plimented me on my patience and impartiality. I 
spent several days with him. He arranged the ques- 
tions and answers and revised all the quotations, and 
gave the little book such a wonderful beauty and 
finish that I was impressed with his great ability and 
learning. When it was all completed I said : ' I can 
see now that for very much of the power and useful- 
ness of this wonderful work I am indebted to you. I 
would like to secure your services in my land. to teach 
my people the truths of this book. I can pledge 
you a large salary. I know that with your help we 
can drive the Christian religion out of my country.' 
Very quickly he said : 

" C I could not do that, for I am a Christian my- 
self. My father was a Christian minister, and I 
would be very sorry to have this book used against 
the Christian religion. Where do you intend to 
use it ? ' 

" 'In Japan ; that is my native country.' 

" He turned as white as a dead man, and said : ' I 
wish I had known that. I will pay you any price 
you may ask for this little catechism.' When I re- 
fused, he was very greatly agitated. I thought he 
was going to faint. He pled with me, with tears 
in his eyes, not to publish the little book. When I 



Letter from Japan. 



155 



left him he was walking the floor and wringing his 
hands. 1 heard him say : c Dear J aek, how I have 
hurt your great, warm, loving heart.' " 



CHAPTEK VII. 

LETTER FROM JAPAN. 

« r\EAK BROTHER : Your letter with the man- 
j_J uscript of the catechism was promptly re- 
ceived. I did not publish the catechism ; I burned 
it. I have become a Christian myself, and I hope 
you will do the same. I know you will be greatly 
surprised, and, I expect, very angry. Bat you are a 
reasonable man. You know that I am not easily de- 
luded. You believe me to be honest and sincere. 
Before you rashly judge me let me give you a state- 
ment of what has occurred. 

"I carefully studied the catechism. The more I 
examined it the less I liked it. The language was 
elegant ; as a work of literary art it was matchless. 
I had never seen or read any thing to compare with 
it. But mere denial does not disprove ; mere asser- 
tion does not establish. I searched in vain for one 
single argument ; I found none. I searched for one 
single word of evidence in proof of the very strange 



156 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

statements the little book contained ; I found none. 
The scholars of our land are not accustomed to deal 
with great questions in that way. If I have no evi- 
dence in proof of these denials of the wonders of the 
holy book, how do I know but the wonders are true 
and the denials themselves are fables ? To discredit 
facts because of a fancied difference in the terms 
used to describe them, or because of varying excel- 
lence of literary merit or finish in the style of the 
narrator of the history, is hardly becoming wise and 
scholarly men. We can never defeat the mission- 
aries by appealing to a trick of rhetoric or by the 
mere denial or assertion of some wise man of whom 
we know nothing. I determined to study the holy 
book for myself. If the higher critics are right, I 
can detect this weakness in the book as well as they. 
I read it through carefully and critically. I found in it 
many strange things recorded ; but w r hen I tried to say, 
'These things are fables,' I asked myself, 'What evi- 
dence have I that they are fables V It is not fair to 
begin the examination of a wonderful thing by declar- 
ing before I have seen it that there can be no wonder- 
ful thing. Because these things are wonderful is no 
reason that they are incredible. If the gods washed 
for any purpose to work a miracle, they would not be 
the all-powerful gods if they could not do so. It 



Letter fjrom Japan. 



157 



would seem to be proper that any communication 
from the gods to men would be accompanied with 
wonders and miracles. I was compelled to believe 
at the start in my investigations that nothing could 
rightfully claim to be from the gods unless accom- 
panied with what to me would be supernatural. 
Next, I asked who relate these wonderful things % 
I saw that they were good, pure, and holy men. 
From the words of deep wisdom they spoke I was 
convinced that they were not ignorant men. I have 
spent many years in the examination of the literature 
of many lands, and I think I know something of lit- 
erary art and excellence. I found myself stopping and 
reading over and over the words of wisdom of the holy 
book and saying, 6 These are the words of the gods ; 
men, however wise, could never speak these words of 
their own knowledge or wisdom. I know that the men 
who wrote this holy book must have been men filled 
with all the wisdom of the gods.' When I asked, ' What 
in this book impresses me most % ' I answered imme- 
diately, ' Character.' The men who spoke or wrote 
were holy men. They always advocated righteous- 
ness and denounced wickedness. Then I could not 
but believe if good and wise men, in order to teach 
men how to be holy and happy and useful, would re- 
late wonderful things to cause men to believe they 



158 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



were the messengers of the gods, the wonders must 
be true. After I had satisfied myself by my critical 
study of the book that it was a credible book, given 
to man to help him to be holy and pure like the 
gods, 1 read it again to see if I could get a clew to its 
real meaning. I saw, as if it had been a puzzle pict- 
ure whose key I had discovered, that every thing in 
the book pointed to Jesus. I was fascinated with 
this secret truth, and read book after book to find 
Jesus in it. I saw him in the promises made to the 
faithful in the early times ; then the wonderful ritual 
and ceremony and law all seemed to be finger-boards 
pointing toward him. The raptures of the prophets 
sounded like the ejaculations of the heralds announc- 
ing the speedy coming of a king. When I came to 
the story of Jesus I read with a warm heart and often 
with wet eyes. My soul bowed down before this 
wonderful man, who was a God as well as a man. 
His life and words and death and resurrection all 
seemed so fitting that I was not surprised. It was 
just what any body might have expected. Then 
those wonderful letters of the wise men who were 
his followers brought to man in a simple, practical 
manner all the truth of Jesus. When I came to the 
last book my soul was full of sympathy with the 
wonderful story. I saw mysteries too deep for man 



Letter from Japan. 



159 



only hinted at, and yet all suggesting the greatest 
of all mysteries — the God-man, Jesus. I closed the 
book in raptures. This is just such a book as the gods 
would write if they desired to communicate with man. 

"Just at this time I became acquainted with a 
medical missionary. I was taken seriously ill, and 
for many days was near to death. When I became 
conscious, after many days of delirium, I saw a Chris- 
tian missionary sitting by my side. I learned that he 
was a doctor who had been working many cures which 
seemed like miracles to our doctors. When our wis- 
est doctors said I must die the Christian came and 
offered to take care of me. For many days he had 
never left my side, save for a few moments. He had 
saved my life, and I was very grateful. When I be- 
came strong enough to talk I asked him why he had 
been so kind to one who was a stranger and a heathen. 
He said : ' I did it for Jesus's sake.' I said : ■ I have 
read the Christian's holy book a great deal lately and 
I have been very much interested in Jesus. I wish I 
had lived when he was on the earth ; I would like 
to have seen him and talked with him.' 

"The missionary smiled, and said: ' He is on the 
earth now. I talk with him every day.' 

" I could not understand him, yet I saw he was in 
earnest and waited for him to explain. 



160 



The Pharisee axd the Prodigal. 



" He said : ' My father was a Christian minister. I 
was a wicked prodigal and was a great sinner. Jesus 
called me. and I heard him and obeyed him. He 
saved me from my sins, and I promised him that I 
would go anywhere lie wanted me to go and 
do any thing he commanded. He said : " Go to 
Japan." I came to Japan. He told me to go about 
among your people and minister to them in his name. 
I came here to help you because I knew it would 
please Jesus. He is my Saviour. I love him and 
would be glad to die for him. He died for me.' 

" My heart gave a great leap. I found myself 
wishing that Jesus was my friend. I said : ' Tell me 
more about Jesus.' 

" He took out of his pocket a little book called the 
Life of Jesus and read to me for a long time. Then 
he talked about him as men talk about a dear friend 
with whom they are well acquainted. The more he 
talked the more I wished I had such a friend. One 
day. as he was reading to me. I stopped him, and 
asked : 

Where is Jesus now? I would like to have 
him for my friend.' 

" He said : c He is here now.' and. smiling, he 
kneeled down and began to talk with Jesus as if he 
were standing by his side. 



Letter from Japan. 



161 



" I closed my eyes, and it seemed to me as if some 
one was near me. My lieart was strangely moved. 

"When I had fully recovered I thought of the cate- 
chism, and decided to ask the missionary's opinion of 
it. The next time he came to see me I asked him to 
look at a little book which my brother had sent me 
to publish and scatter in Japan to prevent our peo- 
ple from becoming Christians. 

" He took it, and after reading a few sentences 
stopped, and, speaking very quickly, said, 1 Who wrote 
this?' 

" I told him it was compiled from many Christian 
writers and prepared in its present form for my 
brother by a very wise and literary man in America. 
I then gave him your last letter. He was greatly 
agitated at something in the letter. I heard him say 
to himself, as if greatly hurt : ' O, Tom ! dear Tom ! 
has it come to this % ' He then read the catechism 
through very carefully. He returned it to me with 
a look of sadness on his face that greatly grieved me. 

" ' Why are you so sorry ? Are these things not 
true ? 5 

" He spoke very emphatically : 
" £ They are not true. They are but the imagina- 
tions of proud and wicked hearts.' 

" I was told a few days later that the missionary 
11 



162 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



was very sick. I went to see him. As soon as I en- 
tered his room I felt he would die. He was very 
white and weak, but seemed very happy. 

" He said to me : ; I am going to Jesus.' 

"I said : 1 1 hope you will not die." 

•*He quickly replied: "Jesus said. " He that be- 
lie veth in me shall never die ; but if he die, yet shall 
he live again." Before I die I wish you would let 
Jesus be your Saviour/ 

I said : 'I would if I knew how.' 

" He asked me to read from the holy book a few 
passages. I turned to them and marked them as he 
told me. He gave me the book, and said : 6 If you will 
do just what the holy book says, Jesus will be your 
Saviour.' 

" I send you the very same book with the passages 
marked, and I want you to do just as I did. 

" The first passage was this : ' Search the Scriptures ; 
for in them ye think ye have eternal life.' 8 That 
means,' the missionary said, ; a careful study of the book 
will reveal Jesus.' I replied : 1 1 know that is so, for 
I have studied the book and found it full of Jesus.' 

" The next passage was : * Enter into thy closer, and 
when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father 
which is in secret, and thy Father which seeth in 
secret shall reward thee openly." That means to ask 



Letter from Japan. 



163 



God to make plain the things which Jesus did and 
said. 

" The next passage was : ' If any man willeth to do 
his will, he shall know of the doctrine.' That means, 
when you have found out what Jesns wants you to 
do, do it, and he will explain it. 

" The last passage was : 6 Come unto me, all ye that 
labor, and I will give you rest.' That means, in all 
your troubles or sorrows or duties, go to Jesus, and he 
will help you. 

" I said : £ I will try it now ;' and I knelt down by 
the missionary's bed and repeated after him this 
prayer : 

" ' Dear Jesus, I have read about you in the holy 
book ; I have heard about you from one of your 
servants ; I have learned to love you ; I want you to 
be my Saviour. I will become your disciple, and al- 
ways serve and obey you.' 

" While I was talking to J esus I felt that some one 
was by my side ; my heart grew warm and tender ; 
it seemed to melt, and all desire for evil things was 
burned out, and love for the good took its place. I 
was filled with joy, and said : 1 Grlory to Jesus ! He 
is my friend.' I arose from my knees. 

" The missionary said : ' I am happy. I am ready 
to go home now. I have a message I want you to 



164 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

deliver. The brilliant young literary man who 
helped your brother write this catechism is my 
brother. I want you to send this letter to him in- 
closed in your next letter to your brother. It is my 
last word to any one in this world.' He pointed to a 
letter by my side on the table and rapidly sank 
away. He died about midnight. 

" The day after we buried him I sat down to read 
and study the catechism. How different it seemed 
to me now ! Jesus was my Saviour. He would not 
deceive me. I started with him ; I studied the mira- 
cles he did. I found nothing incredible. If Jesus 
could save me and cleanse my heart from sin and 
make me a new man, as I knew he had, it was as won- 
derful as any thing written in the book. If Jesus 
gave to his disciples power to work miracles in his 
name, I could believe that just as easy as if he had 
done them himself. I then tried to find out what 
books Jesus had quoted as holy books. I found him 
quoting from the very books the critics were trying 
hardest to destroy. I found him relating as facts the 
very marvels the critics ridiculed as fables or legends. 
It did not take me very long to decide which to be- 
lieve — Jesus or the critics. I burned the catechism. 
I found that the way to settle all these doubts is, first, 
get Jesus in your heart as your Saviour, then take to 



Letter from New York. 165 



him in prayer the things in his word you cannot un- 
derstand. It all becomes as clear as day. The more I 
study the holy book the more I believe it is the word 
of God." 



CHAPTER VIII. 

LETTER FROM NEW YORK. 

"REAR BROTHER: Your letter telling me 
\_J about your very strange and wonderful ex- 
perience made me very angry at first. After a little 
while my anger seemed so foolish that I chided myself 
for yielding to it. I said to myself : 6 Your brother is 
an honest and sincere man. He is a man of great 
wisdom and learning. He is not one who would 
lightly discard his ancestral faith. It is impossible to 
believe that he could be deluded. It may be that 
what he says is true. As I too am an honest man I 
will do as he has done. I will investigate for myself.' 

" I read the holy book carefully, just as you did, 
and it made exactly the same impression upon me 
that it did upon you. I purchased the little book called 
The Life of Jesus in the Words of the Scriptures. I 
read it so carefully and so frequently that I committed 



166 



The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 



it to memory. At last I took the lioly book you sent 
me and went into my chamber and read over the pas- 
sages, just as you did, and knelt down by my bed and 
repeated the same prayer. Jesus treated me just as 
he did you. My heart grew warm and the room be- 
came light and I heard music and I sang a Christian 
hymn so loudly that some one knocked at the door 
and said : 

" 4 Are you sick or crazy ? or what is the matter 
with you ? ' 

" I opened the door, and said : ' I am not crazy. I 
was a heathen a minute ago, but I prayed to Jesus 
and he answered my prayer, and I am a Christian 
now. Do you love Jesus ? 5 

" The man became angry and went away muttering : 
' That's another of them gospel cranks ! ' 

" I had decided that I would investigate this matter 
for myself before I went near any of the critics. 
The day Jesus became my friend I called upon the 
young professor who had helped me prepare the cate- 
chism. He recognized me at once. He was very 
pale and seemed greatly concerned. I saw at once 
that he had heard of his brother's death. The first 
question he asked me was : 

" 1 Did you publish and distribute that catechism in 
Japan 1 ' 



Letter from New York. 



167 



" 1 said: 'No!' 

" c Thank God ! ' lie cried, with great emotion. c I 
have not that sin to answer for.' 

" He then told me that his twin brother had gone 
to Japan as a missionary, and although they differed 
in belief about the holy book he would have cut off 
his right hand before penning a word to hurt his 
brother or hinder his work. 

" I then told him the w r onderf ul story of your ac- 
quaintance with his brother — how he saved your life 
and taught you about Jesus, and thus prevented you 
from printing the catechism. The professor listened 
to me with the most intense emotion written in every 
feature. When I described the death-bed scene he 
broke down and cried as I never saw or heard a man 
cry. He sobbed as if his heart would break : £ O, 
Jack ! Dear old Jack ! How I have forgotten my 
promise to you. I wish I had died before stabbing 
your warm, loving heart with my wicked pen.' 

" I was so overcome with the agony of his grief 
that I could not remain. I gave him the letter, and 
as I came away he was still sobbing and kissing the 
letter from his dead brother. 

" I determined do a little missionary work myself. 
I called upon a number of the higher critics and 
told them my experience. They all listened very 



168 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

politely ; some with real interest, but most of them 
with a half -concealed sneer. 

" I said : c I understand you are all honest investi- 
gators. You seek only the right answer to all these 
questions. Will you now and here with me, a con- 
verted heathen, test the divinity of Jesus and his 
supernatural power by praying to him and asking him 
to make his own book clear and plain \ ' 

" !Not one would for a single moment consider my 
proposition. They all wanted to discuss technicali- 
ties and niceties of language, and called my attention 
to the rules of criticism by which the holy book was 
to be tested before it could be accepted. Of course, I 
was ignorant of these things and could not express 
any opinion. I knew Jesus was divine, because he 
had saved me from my sins. I came back to that 
point, and insisted that, as the book offered a result to 
souls which was eminently desirable and beneficial, 
the only sensible and honest way was to accept the 
conditions the book enjoined and let it prove its own 
authority by accomplishing the result it professed to 
be able to do. If it were a great remedy for the dis- 
eases of the body, as it is for the sins of the soul, we 
could settle its claims very quickly by trying it. It 
would not be fair to take a prescription offered to 
heal a disease and criticise its grammar or spelling or 



Letter from New York. 



169 



writing, and reject it without trying the remedy, es- 
pecially when countless millions have found it a 
never-failing and instantaneous relief from deadly 
disease. Not one single higher critic would agree to 
test the holy book by the standard of personal expe- 
rience. I came from each believing him to be one of 
the class the apostle Peter had in mind when he wrote 
his second letter. He called them ' false prophets 
and false teachers, who privily bring in damnable 
heresies, even denying the Lord that bought them, and 
thus bring upon themselves swift destruction. They 
speak great swelling words of vanity. They are pre- 
sumptuous, self-willed, and are not afraid to speak evil 
of dignities. Many shall follow their pernicious ways ; 
by reason of whom the way of the truth shall be evil 
spoken of. Spots they are, and blemishes, sporting 
themselves with their own deceivings. They shall 
receive the reward of their own unrighteousness.' 

" The day after I had visited the professor he 
came to see me. He did not seem like the same man. 
His eyes were bright ; his face was illumined with a 
heavenly joy. I knew what it meant before he spoke. 
I exclaimed : 6 Jesus is your friend. You have talked 
with him just as I did, and he has treated you just as 
he did me. He has saved you from your sins. Is 
it not so ? ' I grasped his hand, feeling in my soul 



170 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

we were brothers in Christ. He replied, with a sweet- 
ness and a joy that melted my heart : 

" ' Jesus has made it all plain to me. He is my 
friend. I have given him my heart. All my doubts 
vanished when his peace and joy filled my soul. I 
came to tell yon about it. When you left me yester- 
day I was suffering the tortures of the damned. I 
have not had a moment's peace since I helped you 
prepare that catechism. I knew I had done the work 
so well that if it were put in print in your country it 
would be an overwhelming disaster to the religion of 
my father and my brother. I felt only grief for their 
sakes ; but it utterly robbed me of my peace of mind. 
When you came to see me, and told me that my 
evil work had been prevented from accomplishing its 
purpose, I was unable to conceal my joy. But when 
I found that my beloved brother's holy life had led 
your brother to Christ, and that you had been led 
to Christ in spite of all I had done to discredit 
the religion of the Bible, I was convicted of sin 
in the most overwhelming manner. I, the son of 
a Christian minister, a professor in a Christian uni- 
versity, had used my vast learning and remarkable 
ability to overthrow the cause of Christ. Here was a 
heathen man resisting my sophistry and, inspired by 
my brother's self-denying and self-sacrificing faith, 



Letter from .New York. 



171 



finding Jesus as a Saviour. My sin against Christ 
seemed so deserving of eternal condemnation that I 
was overwhelmed with despair. The letter from my 
beloved Jack seemed the only ray of light amid the 
darkness that threatened to engulf me. Will he re- 
buke and denounce me, or will he help me to a hope 
that I may find forgiveness ? I held his letter in my 
hand an hour, not daring to open it. It seemed as if 
the destiny of my immortal soul depended upon its 
contents. At last I was conscious that this tension of 
mind threatened loss of reason, and I opened the letter 
with a trembling hand. O ! the joy it brought me 
no words can describe. Here it is : 

" 6 " Dear Tom, Beloved Old Pharisee : This is 
the last letter you will ever read from 6 Jack the Prodi- 
gal.' I am no longer a prodigal, glory to Jesus ! By the 
time you read this I will be at home in my Father's 
house. "What a mercy that such a sinner as I was 
could be saved. I have found out why Jesus wanted 
me to come to Japan. I have been greatly blessed 
in my work. Many hundreds have been led to Christ 
by my words, but that has not been my most impor- 
tant work here. Jesus knew that you would be de- 
ceived into manufacturing that awful weapon for the 
overthrow of his religion in this land. He planned 
to have me here to destroy it before it accomplished 



172 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

any evil. I am so glad that I have saved you from 
the guilt of this crime. It is a comfort to me to 
know that when you found that your work might hurt 
me, your love for me prompted you to try to undo 
the evil. Ah, Tom ! it was Jesus's loving heart you 
were stabbing as well as your Brother Jack's. What a 
wonderful book it was. I read it with terror and dread. 
I saw that the ingenuity and wonderful eloquence 
that for a moment made my own faith stagger would 
be overwhelming to our work here. I could not but 
feel a thrill of pride that my brother was such a mar- 
velous genius, but you could well imagine the grief 
that followed when I saw you use your wonderful 
power to undermine the faith of your father's Saviour. 
O, Tom ! my life is a cheap price to pay to stay your 
hand. If I could know that this message from your 
dying brother would lead you to Christ, I would die 
content. Remember father's dying message to me. 

0 ! what shall I say to him to-day when I meet him ? 
The first question he will ask will be, ' Where's Tom ? ' 

1 charge you as your brother, who would gladly give 
up heaven rather than have you lose it, don't cheat 
father and mother and Jack of your company when 
the family have their reunion in our home above. 
Dear Jesus, for father's sake save Tom. Father gave 
his life to thy service. I know him so well that if he 



Letter from New York. 



173 



finds, after saving others, any of his own should be 
lost, heaven would be hell. This is my last prayer, 
Dear Jesus, save Tom ! Save Tom ! 

" 6 " Good-bye, Tom, dear ! Remember, you prom- 
ised to meet us all in heaven ! Don't forget ! Your 
loving Jack." 

" ' You may be sure my heart went all to pieces. I 
could only drop upon my knees and cry and pray : 
" O Jesus, for father's sake, for Tom's sake, for 
thine own sake who died for me, save me! " 

" - Instantly my heart leaped with joy. The room 
seemed to be filled with heavenly light. I heard a 
sweet voice say, " Thy sins are forgiven thee." I have 
been as happy as a bird ever since. I resigned my po- 
sition last night, and am now ready to go to Japan to 
take up Jack's work. I was fearful that all the read- 
ing and studying in the line of destructive criticism 
would leave my faith weak and unsatisfactory even 
in my new life of loving service. But I have given 
it the most thorough test. The presence of the divine 
Christ in my own heart is as great a miracle as the 
raising of Lazarus from the dead. All the super- 
natural of the Bible in the light of Jesus's presence is 
as clear as the noonday sun. What a purblind grovel- 
er I have been. I found upon close analysis that 
many years ago dear old J ack diagnosed himself and 



174 The Pharisee and the Prodigal. 

me with all the wonderful skill he afterward developed 
in his medical practice. 

" i He said : " Tom, you are trying to excuse your 
sins by picking flaws in the Bible ; I am excusing my 
sins by picking flaws in Christians. We are both in 
mighty mean business. You are a higher critic and 
I am a hypercritic. I am afraid both words could be 
spelled the same way and truly applied to us both — 
H-y-p-o-c-r-i-t-i-c." ' 

" You may be sure I was delighted that we were 
to have such a helper as this learned and brilliant 
man. We will start for Japan on the next steamer. 
Then for a life-time campaign. Our motto will be, 
' Japan for Jesus ! ' " 



HOW SANTA CLAUS MADE ONE DOL- 
LAR HOLD OUT. 



" T\ /T AMMA, may I send a Christmas box to a 
IVl nero?" 

" What is a nero, mj dear ? " 

" A nero is a person who loves every body else bet- 
ter than he does his own wife and children. He wants 
to make all the world good and happy, and so he makes 
his own family mis'able by always being poor." 

" You mean a hero instead of a nero, don't yon, my 
dear?" 

" Yes, I suppose I do ; but if he gets my Christmas 
box he won't care whether I call him a nero or a hero. 
You see, the kind of a hero I mean doesn't work for 
a living like other people ; he only preaches. He 
doesn't earn money like papa does ; people gives him 
things to keep him from starving. I suppose it's grand 
to have a hero for a father, but I'd rather have an 
every-day sort of a man like my papa. You see, if papa 
was a hero he wouldn't have any money ; we'd be poor, 
and people 'd send us cast-off clothing and cold vict- 



How Santa Claus Made 



uals ; and I'd rather have warm victuals and wear my 
own clothes before any one else does. Auntie read to 
me about some of these heroes away out West. They 
are missionaries. They are not real missionaries to the 
heathen, they are only missionaries to the Christians 
in the West. If they were real missionaries they 
would have plenty of clothes and food and good 
homes. Nobody ever begs for second-hand clothing 
for real missionaries. These missionaries hardly get 
enough to eat. They have to wear cheap second-hand 
clothing which people send them in barrels ; lots of 
them live in houses made out of sod and dirt." 

" My dear, who has been telling you all this non- 
sense ? " 

" It is not nonsense at all, but true sense. Auntie 
was reading it to me to-day out of the Advocate^ and 
they don't put no nonsense in the Advocate. They 
are begging for money and clothing to help keep the 
heroes and their families from starving and freezing 
to death. The men do not have warm clothing ; the 
women do not have nice dresses ; and the little chil- 
dren do not have any toys or picture-books or dolls. I 
felt bad for the heroes ; I felt badder for their wives ; 
but I felt baddest of all for the children. Why, just 
think of it, no Christmas presents, no toys, and no 
dolls ! It's just perfectly awful. Sol said to auntie, 



One Dollar Hold Out. 177 



if my mamma will let me I will send a box to one 
hero, and his family will have a Christmas what is a 
Christmas. I would like to make believe I atn Santa 
Clans. I will — I will do without any Christmas gifts 
myself and send them all the nice things Santa Claus 
is going to get me." 

"Well, my dear, I think you may send a box, but 
Santa will hardly be likely to bring you enough to till 
a box." 

" I will ask all the people I know to help me. The 
things I beg you can put with the things Santa brings 
me, and we will send them all together in one big box. 
I guess I can make my old things do pretty well. My 
old sled can be painted over, you know, and my dollie 
can have a new head and a new body and some new 
clothes, and I s'pose I can get along with her until 
next Christmas." 

And so it was settled. The little seven-year-old 
girl w T as to play Santa Claus and do without any Christ- 
mas presents, and send a box to some misionary's 
family out West. She was an industrious and per- 
sistent little beggar. She asserted with a sweet will- 
fulness that could not be resisted, that as every thing 
she gave w r as to be new and nice, all other gifts must 
be of the same kind. She would not accept any thing 

that had been used. 
12 



178 



How Santa Claus Made 



" Just think of a minister hero getting up to preach 
with a bare- thread coat and a patch on ; it would be 
too bad to send a hero- wife to meeting with a dress 
that had rust all over it just like an old tin kettle. I 
know I would cry if any one were to send me a dolly 
with the legs olf and one eye punched out." 

The way that Christmas box filled up was wonder- 
ful. The little Santa Claus was so delighted with her 
success that one day she said to her mother : 

" Do you think you could spare me all night every 
Christmas ? I'm thinking of being a real Santa Claus 
instead of a make-believe. It would be so nice to have 
a sleigh and some reindeers or a goat, and go around 
and give presents to poor children that don't get any ! " 

The mother smiled, and said : 

" Then you are going to be like the heroes who think 
more of every body else than their own families, are 
you? Are you going to make other people happy, 
and your own poor mamma mis'able by running off 
and leaving her ? " 

" No, no ! you old darling ! " giving her a hug 
and a kiss. " I won't leave you only to make little 
short trips ; or, O ! if you only go with me we would 
have a bootiful time." 

Many hundred miles away a missionary lived in a 
little box of a house that was an oven in the summer 



One Dollar Hold Out. 



179 



and a refrigerator in the winter. The minister and 
his wife, as soon as they were married, had gone to the 
far West, and had been working ever since npon the. 
frontier in the little churches of the Western towns: 
and circuits. The circuit npon which they were now 
stationed had six chapels. They were all little and 
cheap. The congregations were small and the people 
were all very poor. If all the salary promised was 
paid, the minister with a wife and three children conld 
not have lived comfortably. But one half of it could 
not be paid. The crops had failed, the cold weather 
had killed much of the stock, business was dull, and 
times were very hard. Things looked desperate for 
the long bitter winter that was ahead. The stewards 
had been able to get together but one dollar, and to 
make it as easy to carry as possible they put it into one 
big silver dollar. The treasurer said : 

" Brother, this is the best we can do ; we do not know 
when we can get you another dollar. We think you had 
better go somewhere else and close up our churches." 

They did not say just how he could move some- 
where else with but one dollar. The minister was 
thin and white and looked as if he did not have enough 
to eat, but he was brave and true. The tears filled 
his eyes as he thought of his little family, but he said : 

u ~No, brethren, I will not desert my post ; God's 



180 



How Santa Glaus aLade 



work must not stop. These six Methodist churches 
must not be closed. We will manage to get along 
somehow. God will take care of as.' 3 

He did not know just how. but as he rode home 
with but one dollar in his pocket, and knew that it was 
his only dollar, and the only one he would be likely 
to have for many a day, his faith did not waver. He 
sang over and over a verse of a little camp-meeting 
ballad : 

• • 0. do not be discouraged. 

For Jesus is your friend: 
He will give you grace to conquer. 

He will keep you to the end." 

As he entered his little home his wife and three little 
ones, who had been long watching for him, pounced 
upon him and hugged and kissed him and shouted : 

Our dear papa has come : we will have a happy 
Christmas now." 

It was Christmas eve. He had been away over one 
week in the distant part of his circuit. Sitting down 
by the little stove, he drew his wife to his side. Taking 
his bov of seven years upon one knee and his girl of 
live on the other, and putting the baby on his shoulder, 
he sang a simple little home song. 

*• 1\ ow. my darlings, you are in a happy good humor, 
and can stand a bit of bad news."' 



One Dollar Hold Out. 181 



Seeing the startled look on each face, he said quickly : 

" Here is all the money we have, and we can have 
no more for many days." 

Opening his hand, he showed them the big silver 
dollar. Little Mary looked at it, and taking it up in 
her hands, said : 

" How much money ! It must be a hundred dollars." 

"No, it ain't a hundred dollars, either," said Willie, 
"it's only one dollar. Do you call it news, papa, to tell 
us you are out of money ? We know that all the time. 
Then looking at the silver piece, he said with a quiv- 
ering lip, "If you have only one dollar we can't have 
any Christmas. What could Santa Claus do with one 
dollar ? And if he were to take that dollar, what would 
we do for bread ? Papa, why don't you get some busi- 
ness that will support your family, like other men ? " 

Two great tears gathered and trickled down his 
cheeks and splashed on his father's hand. Too brave 
to cry, he slipped down from his father's knee and ran 
to the window, and stood looking out into the thickly 
falling snow. The husband and wife looked into 
each other's eyes but a moment. Each saw a sorrow 
and pain too keen for words. 

The minister said softly : " They offered to release 
me ; they said they could not pay me any thing. I said 
we would not desert our post of duty. We would 



182 How Santa Claus Made 



trust the Lord to take care of us. I am sorry for the 
children, it will be such a disappointment to them. 
This is the first Christmas they have ever missed."' 

Then gently stroking his wife's hair, already becom- 
ing sprinkled with gray, he said : 

" I feel sorry for you, darling, my brave sweetheart, 
If it were not for yon to help and encourage me, I am 
afraid I would have run like a coward long ago. You 
have never failed me. I have to cry all to myself 
when I think how poor and brave your life is. It 
almost breaks my heart when I remember that you 
refused an elegant home to share my humble little 
parsonage. But what would I have been without 
you ? How could I get along without you ? " 

The brave little woman choked back a great sob 
that leaped from her heart and smiled dazzlingly 
upon the weary, white-faced man. 

" My precious husband, yon are my hero. I would 
not exchange my little home with yon to share the 
palace of a king. I have not a regret for the past. 
I have not a thought of repining because of our priva- 
tions. Love glorifies our poverty. We are dearer 
to each other because we have so little else to care 
for. Bnt how pale and thin you are looking ! I fear 
this hard work and rough life will take you away 
from me. Then what would I do ? What would be- 



One Dollar Hold Out. 



183 



come of these ? I will be happy, even if I am always 
poor and cold and hungry, if you are only spared to 
me." 

She rested her head one moment upon his breast, 
and then said softly : " We will trust Him. He has 
never failed us yet. The one dollar with our Saviour 
is better than a million without him." 

She hurried away to prepare the evening meal. 
The minister held the baby in his arms and sang as he 
rocked it : 

" O, do not be discouraged, 

For Jesus is your friend ; 
He will give you grace to conquer, 

He will keep you to the end." 

The little boy and girl stood by the window, hand 
in hand, and looked out into the blinding snow. 

"It's all right, Willie. Santa Clans could never 
find his way out here in all this snow even if papa 
had plenty of money." 

Willie looked his little sister in the face, and said : 

" Will you tell if I say it ?" and before she could 
reply he said : 

" There ain't no Santa Clans ! " 

" O, Willie ! " was all she said, but it was the wail 
of a very sorrowful little heart. She stood and looked 
out into the snow and up through the gray clouds, and 



184 



How Santa Claus Made 



the great tears gathered and slipped down over her 
chubby cheeks in great splashes upon the window-sill. 

" Come to supper, all ; we have bread and cheese 
and tea, and lings and kisses for dessert." 

The mother spoke with a cheery chirp to her voice. 
A bright smile was upon the face, from which every 
trace of tears had disappeared. Her eyes were as 
bright as her words were sweet and tender. 

Little Mary said to her brother, who stood very 
penitently by her, as if sorry that he had hurt his little 
sister's heart but not sorry enough to confess it : 

" Mamma has been talking with Jesus. That's 
what makes her so sweet and happy." 

One warm mother-kiss dried the little wet eyes and 
stilled the little troubled heart. 

" Let us play we are snow-bound travelers and 
provisions are scarce. We are snowed in and our 
rescuers are trying to dig through the great snow- 
bank. When they come they will bring meat and 
butter and milk and potatoes. Until they do come we 
will have to live on bread and cheese and tea. We 
will be brave and happy and make believe this is a 
great feast. The bread is sweet ; mamma's hands 
filled it with love when she made it ; the cheese is 
fresh, and the tea is warm. We will have two kinds 
of dessert. Hugs and kisses from mamma, and hugs 



One Dollar Hold Out. 



185 



and kisses from papa ; you can have either or both. 
We will sing, ' Isn't this a dainty dish to set before a 
king ? ' I'd rather have bread and cheese with my 
darlings than roast turkey, cranberry sauce, and mince- 
pie all alone." 

Cheated into hearty eating, the children laughed, 
and tried to count upon their fingers how many days 
it would take for their rescuers to dig through the 
great high, thick snow wall, and bring the meat and 
butter and milk and potatoes. 

The father and mother nibbled at the bread, tasted 
a crumb of the cheese, and sipped at the weak tea. 
Both pretended not to be hungry and were deeply 
interested in the children's chatter. Innocent de- 
ceivers ! Both knew that all the food in the house 
was upon the table and the children must first be 
satisfied. Both knew too well that one dollar would 
not go very far in buying even bread and cheese and 
tea for five. 

The minister was in his study. The wife was 
sewing and trying to sing. Little Willie and his 
sister, hand in hand, stood by the mother's side. 
They had something important to say. 

When the song reached a pause, Willie said : 
" Mamma, I ain't a Methodist any more. I'm a 
spek-tic now." 



186 



How Santa Claus Made 



" What is a spektic, my dear I " 

"A spektic is a person who knows every tiling and 
don't believe nothing. I mean lie don't believe in 
the Bible and Methodism and Santa Clans." 

" And so my little Willie don't believe in the Bible 
and Methodism and Santa Clans any more ! Is my 
little girl a spektic. too I " 

" !N"o, mamma, I'se no spektic! I believe in every 
thing mamma believes." And then bursting into a 
little camp-meeting ditty which she often sang, her 
sweet, clear voice filled the room as she poured forth 
the qnaiht melody : 

4 'I'se a Methodist bred 
And I'se a Methodist borned ; 

And when I'se dead 
There's a Methodist gone." 

Before the mother could reply she was called to the 
study and the children were left alone. 

" Willie, I'm ashamed of you ; to think you would 
go and become a spektic. and backslide and not be a 
Methodis 1 any more just because your father is poor 
and lias only one dollar. I'd be a Methodis' if he 
hadn't one cent. What's dollars got to do withbein 3 
a Methodis' \ I just know we are going to have 
Santa Claus come to our house. I asked Jesus to let 
either Santa or an angel bring us our Christmas 



One Dollar Hold Out. 



187 



presents, and I know he will, for he says, ' If two 
shall agree and ask, it shall be done.' You ain't 
agreed, and you don't count because you're a spektic ; 
but mamma and me make two without you, and we 
have papa extra, so we've got Jesus sure. He never 
goes back on his word, mamma says, and mamma 
ought to know, for she's been acquainted with him 
ever since she was a little girl. And so when mamma 
read me what Jesus said, I just went into mamma's 
room and knelt down by her bed. You see, I thought 
as Jesus was so used to talking with her there, may be 
I could find him easier. I just 'minded him of what 
he'd said, and told him mamma and me made two and 
we was depending upon him. I told him I wasn't 
particular whether he sent an angel or Santa. If it 
was just the same to him, I'd a little rather have 
Santa. I was acquainted with him, and angels is 
strangers. You see I've knowed Santa nearly five 
years. Let's play church. You be the minister and 
I'll be the choir. You pray and I'll sing. Let's ask 
Jesus to be very sure and not forget our house." 

" No ! " said Willie, sturdily, " 1 can't pray any 
more. Spektics don't pray. I don't believe praying 
will do any good. Papa and mamma pray about it 
all time, and if Jesus won't hear them he won't hear 
us. I wonder if there is any Jesus ! " 



ISS How Santa Glaus aLlde 

"Why, Willie, no Santa Claus and no Jesus! We 
might as well die and be done with ir. I know there 
is a Jesus. I hear mamma sometimes when she goes 
into her chamber saving. * Dear Jesus ! ' and when 
she comes out her eves shine like stars, and sometimes 
she sings : 

*• Dear Jesus, the very thought of thee 
With sweetness fills the breast."' 

And I ask her, * Mother, did Jesus talk back to 
you I ' And she says, ; Yes. my dear.' I'm going to 
pray myself if you won't." 

Willie, at the very thought of his mother's sweet, 
trusting faith in Jesus, began to weaken a little. He 
said, hesitatingly : 

" I won't kneel ; spektics don't kneel. I will stand 
up. I won't pray, but I guess if you pray I can say 
amen." 

Little Mary began : 

" Dear Jesus, bless "Willie. He is a spektic now. 
He ain't going to pray any more. He don't believe 
in Santa Claus. He don't know whether there is 
any Jesus or not. but I do. and mamma and papa 
does ; make Willie a good Methodis' again. Why 
don't you say Amen. Willie " 

; * Because you ain't done," said Willie ; " and be- 
sides, you haven't said one word about the things I 



One Dollar Hold Out. 



189 



want. If you want me to say amen, you must pray 
for a sled and a pair of skates and a pair of mittens 
and a Christmas-tree ; then I'll say amen. You might 
say something about a doll and a little play-kitchen 
for yourself, and something for baby and papa and 
mamma ; then I'll say amen, loud and strong, to all 
your prayer ; bat you want to let my being a spektic 
alone." 

Little Mary began : 

" Dear Jesus, please send Santa Claus and a Christ- 
mas-tree." 

" Amen," said Willie, in a whisper. 

" Let him bring baby and mamma and papa some- 
thing real nice." 

" Amen," said Willie, in a low tone, 

" Send Willie a new sled and a pair of skates and 
a pair of mittens." 

" Amen," said Willie, with a strong Methodist ac- 
cent. 

" Send me a dollie and a little play-kitchen and a 
pair of mittens ; that is, if you can make the dollar 
hold out after the other presents is got." 

" Amen," said Willie, a little softer, as the big sil- 
ver dollar began to grow smaller as the list of pres- 
ents grew larger. 

Mary stopped and said, " You pray now, Willie." 



190 



How Santa Claus Made 



Willie began : " Dear Jesus, make me a good 
Methodist again ; I'm tired of being a spektic." 

" Amen," said Mary, and the meeting was over. 

u I feel better," said Mary ; " don't you, Willie ? " 

" Yes," he said, frankly ; " but I wish I was sure 
Santa Claus would come." 

The father and mother smiled and cried as they 
looked and listened through the partially opened door, 
but said nothing. 

The children were all sound asleep and the minis- 
ter and his wife were sitting together quiet and 
thoughtful. A strange noise was heard without. It 
sounded as if some strange animal was approaching 
the house. At last it stopped before the parsonage 
and a loud voice said, " Whoa ! " 

u It must be Santa Claus," said the wife, and they 
hurried to the door. 

It was one of the neighbors with two pair of oxen 
and a huge ox-cart whose wheels creaked and groaned 
as they crushed through the snow. 

" Good-evening, or rather good-morning, dominie. 
This ye're ain't no sleigh and reindeer party, and I 
am a pretty tough looking Santa Claus. I look more 
like old Nick than Saint Nick, but I've brought you 
your Christmas present. It came to-day, and the 
station man down at the railroad wanted me to bring 



One Dollar Hold Out. 



191 



it around. All expenses is paid, and I don't charge 
nothing for my services. Lend a hand and we'll get 
it in the house. It's a whopper, I tell ye ! " 

It was hard work to get it in the house. It was 
large and heavy and seemed almost to fill the little 
room. The lid was soon off. The most wonderful 
Christmas box a poor missionary ever received daz- 
zled their eyes. It was wonderful how much even so 
large a box could hold. There was a full suit for the 
minister — overcoat, gloves, and great fur riding-cap. 
There were beautiful dresses for the minister's wife 
■ — winter cloak, gloves, shoes, stockings, warm, fine 
underwear, and a white fleecy hood ; a full suit for 
the boy — cap, overcoat, tippet, mittens, and rubber 
boots ; warm and beautiful dresses for little Mary — ■ 
heavy cloak, mittens, shoes and stockings, and the 
cutest little muff and tippet. Baby was not forgotten. 
He received soft flannels and dresses and the daintiest 
baby shoes you ever saw. After all these had been 
taken out the house looked like a dry-goods emporium 
fitted out for the holidays. And still the wonderful 
box was half full. Kow forth came a sled, a pair of 
skates, a beautiful doll, and a charming play-kitchen. 
In the very bottom was a little Christmas-tree with 
candles, stars, crowns, and angels. Underneath the 
tree was a huge package of candies, nuts, and oranges. 



192 



How Santa Claus Made 



The minister stopped to pray two or three times 
before he emptied the box, and finally began to sing : 

" O, do not be discouraged, 

For Jesus is your friend ; 
He will give you grace to conquer, 

He will keep you to the end." 

Just before daylight all the wonderful presents 
were in full view, the Christmas-tree was set up, and 
the candles lighted. The children were awakened by 
hearing the doxology sung as if a camp-meeting was 
going on. 

Willie was wild with delight. Little Mary hardly 
seemed surprised at all. She went aronnd patting 
each present lovingly, and said : 

"Zactly right. I knew there was a Jesus. I 
knew he would send Santa Claus or an angel, one of 
the two ; but how did they ever make the dollar hold 
out ? " 

The most wonderful part of this story is that every 
thing fitted as if it had been made to order. Little 
Mary said " she 'sposed old Santa Claus took their 
measure when they were all asleep. The minister 
found in the pocket of his coat a letter. It said : 

"lama crusty old batchelor who never had a wife or 
a child. I don't take much stock in the ordinary Santa 



One Dollar Hold Out. 



193 



Claus, but when a golden-haired fairy plays the game 
1 acknowledge myself beaten and surrender at once. 
I send my Christmas gift in the form you will appre- 
ciate most." 

Ten crisp ten-dollar bills were inclosed. 

Little Mary put her hands into her muff to see how 
warm and nice it was. She found a letter. It said : 

" Dear hero friends, please accept this Christmas 
box from a little girl Santa Claus." 

The tiny picture of a golden-haired, rosy-cheeked, 
seven-year-old girl, cased in a little silver frame, 
dropped to the floor. 

Little Mary picked it up, and said ; 

"Jesus did not send Santa Claus; he sent an an- 
gel instead, and that's how the dollar held out." 

Willie took the picture, and said : 

" I mean to marry this Santa Claus, so that when I 

preach like papa does I will have a Santa Claus to 

live with me all the time, like papa does." With a 

Mss upon his mamma's cheek, he whispered : " I ain't 

no spektic now. I'm a good Methodist again, and I'm 

going to try and never backslide no more." 
13 



THE TALE A LAMP-POST TOLD ME. 



u TI 70ULD you like to hear a sermon, dominie ? " 

V V I was alone upon a street corner. The 
voice startled me. I could see no one. I was about 
to disbelieve my ears when I heard a strange laugh. 
The "ha-ha" sounded like taps upon a window-pane, 
I looked in the direction from which the laugh came 
and saw a lamp-post, that was all; but it was the 
strangest lamp-post you ever heard of. It had the 
queerest looking face, which seemed to peep out of 
the glass lantern as out of a huge cap. The light had 
turned to an eye that fairly twinkled with merriment 
at my surprise and wonder. It was New Year's day. 
I had made but four calls. I had sipped lemonade 
twice and coffee once. 1 tried to think which had 
tasted like — 

" Would you like to hear a sermon, dominie ? " the 
voice spoke again, interrupting my troubled thoughts. 

It was the lamp-post speaking. I was sober. Be- 
fore I could speak the lamp-post laughed again until 
its glass cap rattled as if it would break. 



The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 195 



" Don't be alarmed, dominie. You preach your- 
self, and perhaps you would rather hear a story than 
a sermon. I shouldn't wonder if your people felt the 
same way sometimes. I could tell many a tale. I 
see many queer and funny sights ; I hear many sad 
and terrible things as I stand here night after night 
looking and listening. I've wanted to talk with 
somebody for a long time; I've tried many times. 
But when once my voice was heard the man ran for 
life. I never tried to speak to a woman, because I 
can't run away." 

That peculiar, weird laugh fairly gave my blood a 
chill as the glass cap rattled as if it would break. I 
rubbed my eyes in surprise. It seemed as if the arms 
which lamp-posts generally carry akimbo were press- 
ing its sides as it swayed to and fro in rollicking 
laughter. 

"I feel quite confidential with you now since I 
have decided to preach. I am one of the cloth, you 
know. If you listen to me I will give you material 
enough for a dozen sermons. I can tell you tales that 
will crack your sides w T ith laughter or break your 
heart with pity and grief." 

Just then a dirty, ragged wretch staggered against 
me heavily. 

" Beg your pardon, boss (hie). I've been makin' 



196 



The Tale a Lamp- post Told Me. 



New Year's calls (hie). I've swore off six times to- 
day, 'm goin' t' swear off 'gin (liic) to-night." 

He staggered off up the street shivering, swearing, 
and singing. I thought I heard the lamp-post sigh. 
When it spoke again all the merry banter was gone. 
The voice was soft and sad like the moaning of 
the w T ind sweeping down the street. Its single eye 
flickered and grew dim as if full of tears. I was first 
chilled and then melted as I listened, like one in a 
dream. 

" Poor Harry ! " it said, " you don't know him. I 
do. I've known him a long time» I've tried to talk 
to him. To hear a lamp-post speak and see it smile 
:and wink at him made him think the terrible delirium 
was coming again. He would ran as if the demons 
were after him the moment I began. 

" When I first saw him he was as clean and spruce 
a young fellow as ever walked these streets. He was 
a fresh young country boy, with clear eyes and 
blooming cheeks. It made my heart ache to see 
him. I had seen so many just like him come to the 
city only to be ruined that I feared for him. I 
called him my country boy, and always watched for 
him as the whistle blew. He would stride along 
with a boyish, swinging walk, as if he were in a hurry 
to drive home the cows at milking time. The first 



The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 197 



time I saw him dressed up I was frightened enough 
to cry. You never saw a lamp-post cry, did you ? I 
shed one tear, and that almost put my one eye out. I 
was vexed enough to give myself a good shaking. I 
believe I did try, but I made such comical work of 
it that I had to laugh, and cracked one pane of my 
glass cap. I saw by the curl of hair pomaded down 
upon his forehead and the bright necktie, new 
gloves, and natty cane that he was going to see his 
girl. I muttered to myself : ' "What a fool you are 
making of yourself ; he has found a sweetheart, and 
that is always an anchor to a young man if she is the 
right kind. I know she is. A boy with a face and 
laugh like his will fall in love with a girl like his 
sweet, pure sister.' 

" While I was talking to myself he was standing 
close by my side, gently rapping me with his little 
cane and softly whistling. He suddenly looked up 
and started as he saw my face. 

" 4 1 declare,' said he, ' I do believe that this lamp- 
post is trying to get up a flirtation with me.' Then, 
with a merry smile and low bow he laughed, ' It's no 
use, old lady, I have one girl.' I blushed until the 
glass in my cap became almost a ruby red. 

" I watched him every night now as he came 
from work, and then, dressed in 'his Sunday suit, 



198 The Talk a Lamp-post Told Me. 



would hurry by. To my great joy she was with him 
one night. They had been to church. She was hum- 
ming a hymn. They stopped right here by me to 
chat a little while. I never wanted to bend so badly 
in my life. I wanted to stoop and see her face. She 
started and clung a little closer to him as she said : 
' Harry, I do believe that lamp-post bent a little bit.' 

" ' Nonsense,' lie laughingly replied, as he clasped 
her hand. Then a little more seriously, he said : * Do 
vou know, Maud, I have imagined I have heard this 
same lamp-post try to speak to me \ It frightened 
me at first, but now it seems like an old friend.' 

" She looked me in the face and then cried with real 
fear, ' O, Harry, look ! The lamp-post has a face ; its 
light looks like an eye.' I had been so anxious to see 
her that when she did look- at me I really stared at her. 
I ought not to have done it. I don't wonder she was 
frightened. That one glance satisfied me, and I looked 
another way as he put his arm around her. She hid 
her face on his shoulder and I think he kissed her. 
At any rate, she was blushing when I looked again. 
She was a sweet, pure, young girl, just such a one as 
my country boy's mother or sister would have picked 
out for him. I tried to look like any other lamp-post 
as they started to go away. She threw me a kiss as she 
said, ' Good-night, old lamp-post. Don't tell any body, 



The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 



199 



please.' I was really ashamed my arms were so stiff I 
could not throw her a kiss in return. They came by 
every night now, and always stopped near me for a 
little chat. I soon learned all about them. She was 
a shop-girl earning a scanty pittance which barely en- 
abled her to live. Life was an endless battle for bread 
and shelter and clothing, unrelieved by scarce a gleam 
of sunshine until he came. They were to be married 
soon and struggle along together. With brave hearts 
they planned to deny themselves every possible thing, 
that their scanty earnings might furnish their cosy 
little nest of two rooms. Their wedding eve thev 
passed me going to the minister's and then to their 
little home. They did not notice me this time. They 
only had eyes for each other I lost sight of them 
for many months. One night a man, staggering along, 
stumbled and threw his arms around me to keep from 
falling. As he stood half clinging and half leaning, 
trying to steady himself, he muttered: 

" ' I believe this is my very old friend, the lamp- 
post. Glad to see you, old fellow ; 'f 't hadn't been 
for you I'd had a bad tumble ; one good turn d 'serves 
another ; 'f ever you need a friend, just send for me/ 

" I was so startled by the change in my country boy 
that I trembled until I broke every glass in my cap ; 
a tear I could not stop blinded my eye, and a gust of 



200 The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 



wind coming along just then put it clear out. The 
policeman on that beat said as he rapped me with his 
night-stick, "Out for the first time in five rears.' 

" That saloon at the corner became his loafing-place 
every night. One night he was thrown out into the 
street unable to walk. He curled up against me in a 
drunken sleep. She found him here. What a change 
the few months had wrought! She was shabbily and 
thinly dressed. Wan and gaunt looking, with great 
black rings around her eyes, she looked more like a 
ghost than a creature of flesh and blood. The police- 
man helped her get him on his feet, and then leaning 
upon her he shambled out of sight. Every night now 
she came after him and stood here right by me wait- 
ing to help him home. One night — I wish I could 
forget it — he was quarrelsome. He resented her spy- 
ing and hanging around, and after working himself 
into a fury he struck her in the face with his clenched 
fist. She fell against me. and that sharp corner there 
cut a fearful gash in her face. I believe the blood is 
there yet. Sobered by the result of his wicked blow, 
he picked her up and carried her home. The next 
time I saw her she came out of that saloon too drunk 
to walk, and clung to me until the policeman dragged 
her away and threw her into the patrol-wagon and 
took her to the station-house. I heard she had been 



The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 



201 



sent to the island for three months. My heart is iron, 
but it was broken that night. I loved Harry and 
Maud—" 

The voice ceased. I looked at the lamp-post. 
There was no face. The gas nickered and sputtered. 
Had I been dreaming ? As I passed to my home the 
story of these two lives was as real to me as if I had 
always known them. 

****** 

I was in my church at a joyous festal occasion. 
Flowers, music, and bright faces made the hour one of 
surpassing delight, I was summoned to a side room 
by the bustling sexton. " A couple to be married, 
dominie,'' he whispered with a smile. As he intro- 
duced me he said : i; The dominie is enjoying a wel- 
come reception from his church. He is in a capital 
state of mind to marry people. You've hit him at 
the right time.'' When we were alone the man said : 
" We are not here to get married ; we are married. I 
have brought you my wife to have her sign the 
pledge." I looked at her in surprise. She was a 
comely young woman, neatly, although very poorly, 
dressed. She returned my glance with defiance as she 
turned upon her husband, saying, u If I sign the pledge 
you've got to promise you'll not beat me. You taught 
me to drink and now beat me because I won't stop." 



202 



The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 



Sullenly the man told his story. He had been in- 
temperate. He had abused his wife until, in desper- 
ation, she had taken to drink. When he learned that 
his wife, too, was a drunkard he had reformed, but 
had tried in vain to induce her to give up the drink. 
She had been arrested a score of times. She had 
been to Blackwell's Island twice. 

"We were at jour church last night and deter- 
mined to try and begin a new life. Will you not 
write a pledge for both of us ? " 

I drew up a pledge ; they signed it. We prayed 
together, and they passed out. I looked at the sig- 
natures. I read, " Harry and Maud ." The next 

day I called at the address given me. They had 
moved, no one knew where. 

A biting December day in holiday week I re- 
ceived a note saying a dying woman wished to see me. 
I called immediately. 1 was directed to a back room 
upon the top floor of a large, cheap tenement-house. 
When I knocked, a faint voice said, " Come ! " 

I entered. A woman was lying upon a pallet of 
straw upon the floor. She was emaciated to a 
shadow. Her long black hair hung about her thin 
white face, in which a pair of black eyes fairly 
gleamed like the eyes of a famished wolf. Around 



The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 



203 



her shoulders was but a cotton night-dress. In a tiny 
stove a handful of coals faintly glowed. I was chilled 
to the bone as I sat with my great ulster overcoat on. 
I said, " Are you alone ? " She whispered, " Yes." 

" Have yon any thing to eat ? " 

She pointed to a cracker and a half cup of cold 
tea. 

" Is that all % " I asked. 

She nodded. " He has not been here all day. He 
is drinking again. I kept the pledge you gave me. 
God has helped me. He is going to take me home 
soon. I am glad." 

The black eyes looked up through the grimy ceil- 
ing, through an open gate, and saw warmth and food 
and love, and smiled. As she smiled, the hungry 
look faded out of her eyes and they shone with tears. 
We made her comfortable for a few days and then 
laid her away to rest. A simple stone marks the 

spot. It bears the name of Maud . 

# # * 4f * 

I was passing up the street. A horse and wagon 
dashed along at a fearful rate. The drunken man in 
the wagon was unable to control or guide the fright- 
ened beast. They turned the corner and came down 
in a heap together. The wagon had been dashed 
against a lamp-post, snapping the iron shaft off close 



204 The Tale a Lamp-post Told Me. 



with the ground. The man was dead. The lamp- 
post lay across his mangled face. As I lifted the 
lamp-post from the body I thought I heard it sigh 
and felt it tremble. It was my old friend. 
The dead man was Harry . 



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